


Whether He Likes it or Not

by Welcome_to_yesterday



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bathing/Washing, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Captivity, Face Slapping, Forced Bonding, Gags, Hand Feeding, Hand Jobs, Human Derek Hale, Hurt Stiles Stilinski, Kidnapping, Light Bondage, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Murder, Non-Consensual Touching, Nudity, Partial Nudity, Peter Hale is a Little Shit, Possessive Derek, Punishment, Rape/Non-con Elements, Riding Crops, Rope Bondage, Spanking, Top Derek, Top Derek Hale/Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Underage - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:01:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 15
Words: 34,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26996356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Welcome_to_yesterday/pseuds/Welcome_to_yesterday
Summary: When Stiles gets lost in the woods in the middle of the night, he finds Derek Hale's car parked by the side of the road and the man gives him a lift. Whether he likes it or not.When Derek is scattering his evidence in the woods in the middle in the night, he spies a pretty boy about to smash his car window and decides that he wants him. Whether he likes it or not.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 94
Kudos: 641





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't really written anything 'dark' before so be kind, please. Comments and kudos welcome. If you want soft stuff, check out my other fic. Enjoy. We're all going to hell together.
> 
> Eve x
> 
> Warning: there is talk of severed limbs and an injury to Stiles in this chapter.

Why? Why, oh god damn, why did Stiles always have to get himself caught up in the worst situations? Was he that annoying in his daily life that God just decided to fuck him over at every major chance he got, just to shut him up? Sure, Stiles knew that he could be annoying. He definitely talked too much and usually said the wrong things too. Plus the countless times he had sneaked out of his bedroom window in the late hours when his dad was working, just to crash the same crime scene his dad was investigating at. Okay, maybe Stiles was a little annoying. But was it really enough to warrant being stranded in the middle of Beacon Hill woods with a dead torch and a broken phone?

“Stupid fucking torch and it’s stupid fucking batteries,” Stiles grumbles as he trudges through the wet ground of the woodland, sneakers sinking slightly into the less than pleasant mud that was making the walk harder than it already was. 

He’d caught a mention of a body having been found in the woods from the police radio he’d hooked into his precious jeep, and the brilliant idea of wanting to investigate it himself had flashed in his mind. Stiles had called Scott immediately, wanting to ask if his best friend would like to join him in uncovering this murder mystery. However, after three calls and zero answers, Stiles had decided to go alone. And boy was that a mistake. 

The sky was pitch black, Stiles barely able to see his hand in front of his face. He had been walking for what felt like forever, legs tired and jeans soaked practically up to his knees. It had been raining when he’d started, though it was barely a drizzle now, water just bouncing off his coat. The trees seemed to be beginning to thin out and Stiles quickens his pace, his brain telling him that thinner trees meant a road was nearby. And whilst Stiles wasn’t always right about everything, he was glad to be right just this one time.

He blinks as he comes to a stop just out of the trees, sights having landed on a sleek black car parked on the side of the road. Stiles slowly steps towards it, ducking a little to try and see if there was anyone inside. There weren’t any lights and, upon a closer inspection of pressing his face against the window, he sees there isn’t anyone inside the car either. Nothing. Had it been abandoned? Looking left then right, he still sees no one around, and figures that hot wiring a car seemed like his best option in the current situation. 

His hands scramble blindly at the grass around his feet, searching and finding purchase on a somewhat hefty rock. A grin slips across his lips as he picks it up and tests its weight, eyes glancing to the car window. Stiles judges his distance and then his aim, wanting to be back far enough to not be injured by the glass, that would surely scatter everywhere, before he readies his throw. His arm lifts, pulls back slowly and, just before it can fling forwards, his wrist is gripped suddenly and tightly. 

A yelp rips from his throat, the rock leaving his grasp and hitting the ground as Stiles tries to spin around in the hold, suddenly staring at a man. A man with dark hair and a leather jacket, stubble framing his jaw and bright, concerned eyes. 

“Is there any particular reason why you were about to smash my car window?” The man’s deep voice speaks, Stiles shaking like a leaf and the grip on his wrist remains.

Shit! This guy owned the car? Stiles was tempted to slap his own forehead. He clearly hadn’t looked hard enough for anyone around considering this guy got to Stiles in seconds and stopped him destroying his property. 

“I am so sorry, oh my god,” Stiles rushes out, his panic making the man relax slightly and the hold is loosened. Just an innocent kid it seemed. However, he doesn't fully let go just yet. “Look, I got lost in the woods and I just need a ride home, sir.” 

“Sir? I’m not that old.” 

The repeat of his word is almost purred, the corner of the stranger’s lip twitching for a mere moment before the free hand is reaching into a pocket and a set keys are pulled out. The car unlocks with a simple button press and Stiles is given a shove towards it, despite the uneasy feeling settling in his stomach. He feels like he recognises this guy, unable to put a name to the face in his current situation. And as he stumbles over his feet when shoved forward, still not really approaching the car himself, he’s given another push in his lower back. However, the hand rests there this time, lingering. 

“I can give you a ride home, no problem. I’m Derek, by the way.”

The unwanted hand continues to usher him closer to the car, all sorts of alarm bells ringing in Stiles' head. Derek. Derek Hale. The guy that left town because his whole family died in a fire. Why was he back in Beacon Hills after all these years? And what on earth was he doing parked by the woods in the middle of the night? It feels like a question that Stiles should ask, but the same could be asked of him. And Stiles doubts that his truthful reply would gain him any favours. 

“I’m Stiles,” he says as he swallows down the lump in his throat, thankful for his nickname and never using his complicated first name. 

They reach the car after enough shoving and the passenger door is opened for him, Derek waiting patiently for Stiles to slip into the seat in front of him. Hesitantly, Stiles lowers himself and lets his leg stretch into the car, twisting his body to drop into the seat. He hopes that he's left alone after doing what Derek clearly wants of him, but he has no such luck. As if he's a child, Derek leans over and does his seat belt for him, far too close for Stiles’ comfort. This screamed weird. Dangerously weird. Like Stiles was about to end up as another dead body in the woods, kind of weird. But as Derek pulls back from his hunched position over Stiles, he just grins at the teenager and ruffles his hair. 

The door is shut and Derek swans over to the drivers side, Stiles keeping his eyes locked on the man’s moving figure as he walks around the bonnet of the car to get to the opposite side of the vehicle. As soon as Derek sits in his seat and shuts the car door, Stiles can hear the lock clicking and his eyes dart to the light that flashes on the dashboard. Child Lock. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Stiles stays deadly silent, hands wedged under his thighs to prevent anything annoying he could do, figuring it would be best to not provoke him, as Derek clicks his own seat belt and calmly starts the car. 

“Where do you live, Stiles?” Derek asks casually as they pull out onto the dark and empty road, Stiles gritting his teeth at the question.

A part of him didn't want to answer the man for two reasons. One, if he were to leave this car alive, he didn’t fancy Derek knowing his address. If he left him alone now, who's to say he wouldn’t come back for him later? Two, he didn’t know if telling him his address would mean anything if he was going to be killed anyways. However, perhaps Stiles was freaking out for no reason. He couldn't get home without telling the man his address, right? 

“Uh, you can just drop me off at the Sheriff’s station in Beacon Hills. My dad’s the sheriff,” he speaks lowly, calculated. His dad always said that he was too smart for his own good. That his smarts would get him into big trouble, but it would also very likely get him out of it too. 

“Nonsense. I’ll take you straight home, Stiles,” Derek insists and then those piercing eyes are glancing at Stiles, trailing up and down his body as if examining every single detail of him in seconds. It's intimidating and Stiles feels like a piece of meat hanging in a butcher’s shop window. 

“What were you doing in the woods?” Stiles blurts out, the pressure and staring having gotten to him, and he regrets his question as soon as the words leave his stupid mouth. 

Derek’s gaze, that had left him to look at the road, is now back on the boy. But instead of anger, of being called out for his rather suspicious behaviour, that damn smirk was pulling at his lips again. 

“Would you like to know the truth, Stiles?” Derek hums, the teenager digging his nails into his thighs and praying this was all a dream. That this wasn't real. But every minute of unanswered silence that passes, Stiles knows this isn't a damn dream. He isn’t fucking stupid. 

“I...uh..” Stiles’ mouth feels dry, tongue darting out to wet his lips as his anxiety grows even more. He's going to die. He’s going to get murdered by a psychopath that visits the woods in the middle of the night. 

The silence that lingers after Stiles’ stutter is eerie, Derek's hands gripping the wheel that little bit more tightly as he waits for Stiles to speak properly. Stiles’ eyes look to Derek's side profile and then his hands, then back to his face again, repeating the cycle for a good few minutes. And with every minute that went by, Derek was getting more tense.

“I asked you a question, Stiles.”

There’s no obvious threat that comes along with the words, though the simple press for a reply tells Stiles a few things. One, Derek doesn’t like being ignored. Two, they certainly are not driving towards Beacon Hills, with every sign they passed warning of him this, and Derek feels like he is running out of time. And three, Derek is going to tell him the truth whether he liked it or not, so why bother denying the man. 

“I’d like to know, please,” Stiles croaks out, the tension slipping from Derek's body and he eases back into the relaxed manner he’d been in previously. 

The older man flexes his fingers on the steering wheel, stretching out each digit as his head tils and the crack of his neck makes Stiles flinch in his seat. Next, he takes his sweet time in rolling out his shoulders and shifting in his position as if making himself comfy. Stiles holds back the urge to roll his eyes, wanting to grumble about Derek's urgency to tell him this truth and then making Stiles wait. Though he knows it’s a tactic. If he’s willing enough to let Stiles into his car and wanting to tell him the truth then he must be smart enough to know exactly how he’s going to deal with Stiles after the teenger knows. 

Just as Stiles is about to slump into his seat and give up waiting, a hand moves away from the steering wheel and one finger extends and points to the back seat. A frown crosses Stiles’ features and he glances behind himself slightly, spying a thick blanket draped over the seats. A lumpy blanket. Oh god. Stiles forces his eyes forward for a moment, hand slamming over his mouth to prevent himself vomiting in the moving vehicle. He might be jumping to conclusions. Surely, there's not a dead body back there. He would’ve noticed a smell or something, right? 

After taking a deep breath, and making sure he’s not gonna be sick, Stiles carefully twists himself around in his chair. It’s somewhat awkward with his limbs, foot knocking some part of the car and he curses under his breath about his gangly limbs. Derek stays quiet still. Once twisted enough to see the back seat, Stiles’ slips his arm out from the constraint of the seatbelt and reaches towards the blanket. It was woolen, with a tartan pattern, something you’d throw over a couch. Fingertips brush the edge and then pinch, wanting to touch it as little as possible. Slowly, very slowly, he lifts the fabric up and then squints at the darkness beneath. He can't really see, debating how to approach it when his hand moves before his brain and tugs it off completely.

Stiles stares slack jawed at the sight before him, the smell hitting him as seen as the blanket is removed. A few loose body parts were placed delicately on the seats, a tarp laid out first to not let any dirt tarnish the seats themselves. But as Stiles’ eyes examine the pieces, he sees that the blood where each limb is hacked is already dry. There two arms, both very different looking but both left handed. And then a foot, ankle down, with some ugly butterfly tattoo. What looks to be a thigh, thick and round with a large gash right in the middle. 

It's horrifying. In fact, Stiles isn't sure if any word could describe it. Body parts. All from different people. All very much separated from the original bodies, and that then begs a lot of questions. Where were the rest of the bodies? And who were the people all these belonged to? And why, oh god damn why, were they in Derek's back seat?

“Stiles,” Derek’s voice breaks through the teenager’s manic thoughts, his heartbeat spiking at the sound of him. This man either killed these people, dismembered them, or he's working with the person that did it and he's just getting rid of the evidence. Either way, Stiles was fucking screwed. “Look at me, Stiles.”

He hadn’t expected himself to actually listen to those words, head turning so fast Stiles swears his neck could’ve snapped. A part of him wishing it did snap. His stomach felt more nauseous than before, the bundle of knots pulled even tighter and each string was wrapped around one of Derek’s fingers. His eyes are wide and frightened, like a deer in the headlights as the car slowly comes to a stop in the middle of the road. Derek patiently turns to meet his gaze, his own somewhat sad and sorrowful. A hand slips off the steering wheel and rests on Derek's thigh, head tilting slightly as he looks at the boy before him.

“I’m sorry, Stiles. But this is gonna hurt,” Derek speaks, tone like a parent talking to a misbehaving child, Stiles having no time to understand the words before the hand comes for him. 

It shoots out of Derek's lap and grabs at the side of Stiles’ face, dirty nails digging harshly into his soft skin. His heart rate spikes and his own hands reach out for anything...anything at all that could stop him. Derek’s face was almost emotionless, if it wasn’t for the flash of disappointment across it at stiles’ attempt at fighting back. His hands simply swipe at the open air as his temple collides with the window, a flash of stars in his eyes before everything suddenly goes black.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've all been so nice so far. Derek, on the other hand, hasn't hehe. If there's anything particular you would like to see then don't be afraid to comment!   
> P.S. updates will not usually be this often I just get eager when i start new things oops  
> Eve x
> 
> Warnings: kicking, rope being used as restraints, and mention of rape/non-con

Waking up is just as painful as being knocked unconscious, a dull aching throbbing through stiles’ head. His eyes don’t really want to open, but with the position he’s in, laying on his side, there’s an inconsiderate strip of daylight streaming on to his face. Eyes tired and crusty, Stiles lets a groan slip past his dry lips as he attempts to recollect his memories before even wanting to open his eyes and look at the situation he was in now. 

He remembers the report of the body crackling through his car radio, the excitement making his heart race faster. The woods flicker in his mind, trees standing tall around him as the rain fell. Stiles thinks about how his torch had broken before he could even start returning to his jeep, and how his phone had slipped from his hand and the dreadful crunch that had echoed as it landed on a rock. He remembers walking, and lots of it, and then his eyes snap open as the following events hit him like a fucking freighttrain. 

He’s momentarily blinded by the sunlight that is peeking through a curtain, hissing like some vampire. Though, it’s at that point that Stiles’ realises he cannot move his hands. Well, technically, he could. He can wiggle his fingers, flexing them all he likes, but thick rope binds his wrists together and the short length of it attached to the bed frame means they can’t move from the position just above where his head is laying. 

Stiles blinks as he turns his head away from the window, tired eyes casting across the room around it. He was laying on a double bed, the sheets plain with no personality. A few feet away from the bottom of the bed was a couch, and in front of that a small tv. A coffee table is wedged between the two, a duffel bag sitting on the wooden surface. Stiles drags his gaze away from it to glance at one of two doors. The first was open, letting him see a small kitchenette area with a rather downsized table and chairs. It, like the rest of the space, was nothing special. Just everything needed for basic living. And the second door is shut, though Stiles can hear running water from the other side. 

The teenager figures that they’re in a motel or a rented apartment, judging by the size of the place, how basic it is, and the fact that the window with the outside light coming in was right next to a door. Stiles only knows it's a front door as he spies Derek's shoes placed neatly on the floor by it. Which brings Stiles to another thought. He is fully clothed. He’s still in his muddy jeans and the batman t-shirt he’d thrown on yesterday morning. Though his shoes and coat were both gone and neither were in sight. It was probably to deter him from running away, he thinks as his gaze then returns slowly to the ropes binding him. He gives one good tug, just to try and see how good at knots Derek is, when the bed frame suddenly lets out a loud creak. 

Stiles cringes at the noise that alerts his captive of his conscious state, attention flickering to the shut door as the running water is very quickly shut off. He hears shuffling of fabric, like a towel perhaps, and then the click of the lock. The teenager, as soon as he sees a slither of Derek’s skin, buries his face into the crook of his elbows by his face. His cheeks flush red as he hears Derek's feet moving around on the carpet, getting closer to the bed Stiles is trapped on. He was naked. Fully nude. When Derek had stepped out of the bathroom, instead of having the towel around his waist like a normal person, Stiles had seen every inch of the man’s body with the towel occupied drying his hair. Embarrassment and disgust floods through him, guessing his ears are red judging by the deep chuckle that is heard behind him. 

“I know you’re awake, Stiles,” Derek hums, the voice much too close for the teens comfort and his leg kicks out in a panic. 

Derek’s damp hand swiftly catches him just below the knee, holding his leg in the awkward backwards position for a moment before it's very delicately lowered to the bed. The man lets go though his fingers ghost up the boy’s leg, over his hip bone and then teases at the slip of skin where Stiles’ shirt had ridden up. That touch alone made Stiles whimper and he jerks away from the touch, almost falling off the bed if it wasn’t for Derek's finger hooking into a belt loop at the back of his jeans. 

“You’re fucking naked,” Stiles grits out, hearing as Derek merely hums at his statement and then the finger slips away from his jeans. 

He keeps his eyes shut tight and face buried away from Derek as his ears pick up on movement again. Stiles can only assume Derek is getting himself dressed to appease the clearly uncomfortable boy. Then the footsteps move around the bed, this time to be in front of Stiles, and it makes him even more nervous. 

“Better?” Derek asks and fingers touch over the wrists bound with rope, Stiles hissing softly as Derek pokes and prods at the angered skin where the rope had rubbed him. 

Ever so cautiously, Stiles pulls his head out of the protection of his elbows and peels his eyes open. Before him stood Derek, not naked this time, though he’d only bothered to put on a pair of boxers and jeans, meaning that his chest was still on full view. The relaxed state of the man’s clothing probably means that he isn't going anywhere for awhile. And neither is Stiles. Stiles then looks to his red wrists, having not realised how sore they were until now. The rope must’ve agitated his skin as he moved in the night, Stiles knowing he was never one to keep still even when unconscious. 

Derek gives a small huff of breath once he finishes his examination of the raw skin, moving his hand up the rope to reach for the end connected to the bed. However, as his fingers curl around the knot there, his eyes suddenly dart to stare right into Stiles’. 

“I’m going to undo this knot so that I can sit you up. It will be then tied to the foot of the bed and you will stay sat up as I give you breakfast, got it?” Derek's voice is stern, with no room for any questions or protest. 

His eyes stay locked with Stiles as the teenager tries to study his face for anything. Any hint as to why Derek kept him. It’s clear that Derek has the ability to kill people, and the lack of morals to help with that, so why keep Stiles alive? He swallows down that thick lump in his throat, head slowly nodding in response to the question tacked on to the end of Derek's words. 

“Stiles.”

There came that tone again. That disappointed tone that had Stiles filling with more anxiety and shame than when he peed the bed at age ten because he watched a scary movie. It was the tone that pressed for a different reply, though Stiles thought he was giving the man what he wanted. Compliance. An ache radiating through his skull reminds him vaguely of the night before...Derek doesn't like being ignored. And it seemed he doesn't like non verbal replies either.

“I got it,” Stiles rushes out of his mouth, head nodding along with the words like a bobble head hula dancer on some trucker’s dashboard. 

Those three simple words make Derek's lips stretch out into a gentle smile, standing himself up a little more from his hunched over position and turning his attention to the rope. Stiles stares straight ahead at Derek's stomach as he feels the rope coming loose and then his hands sink a little more into the pillows. He’s barely given a minute to rest as his hands are yanked upwards by the rope, stretching his arms up above his head and forcing him to sit up.

His back aches and groans of pain leave Stiles as he sits up on the bed, legs out in front of him as Derek just holds the rope up in the air. It was starting to hurt his shoulders, not being able to relax his arms for so long, and Stiles dares to shoot a pleading glance at the man. Derek’s face is blank, just looking at Stiles like he’s a stain on the bed sheets, and it makes the boy want to curl in on himself with embarrassment. But he notices how Derek’s eyes flicker to his dirty jeans and then his brows furrow. He’s thinking. 

Derek’s head shakes softly and then he’s refocusing his actions, bringing the rope and Stiles’ arms down to tether to the foot of the bed frame. Stiles lets out a quiet sigh of relief as the tension drops from his shoulders and arms, finally getting the chance to crack his stiff neck. He doesn't bother to watch as Derek ties the rope again, figuring that any sort of escape would be impossible if the man planned on staying right by him at all times anyways. And then, without even a hint of warning, Derek's hands go for his jeans.

Stiles almost screams as his leg kicks at the man again, breathing speeding up and his chest going tight. He doesn’t know what Derek plans to do but he’s pretty sure he doesn’t want him doing it, biting down on his lip as his foot slams into Derek's thigh. There’s enough panicked force behind it to briefly shove Derek away from the bed, off balance and just catching himself on the dresser under the window. 

The air falls silent, Derek staring down at the carpet with one hand on the dresser and one just touching where Stiles’ foot had kicked him. Meanwhile, Stiles is staring wide eyed at his captor, doing his best to try and calm his breathing down. A few minutes go by, Stiles having reclaimed his breath somewhat as Derek recovers from the attack. Stiles hasn't done much to him, in fact he highly doubted he’s damaged the man at all. Probably caught him off guard more than anything. 

“Stiles…”

“You tried to take my pants off!” Stiles snaps before Derek can continue with whatever he’s going to say next. 

The boy is now defensive, on high alert after that stunt. Derek takes his time moving his gaze from the floor to rest on Stiles, still damp hair just hanging slightly in his face. 

“Stiles, I-”

“You’re gonna fucking rape me!” 

Derek winces slightly as Stiles continues to raise his voice, though there’s a clear change to his demeanour. The kick seems to have knocked his confidence somewhat, the usual calm and collected Derek having disappeared briefly. However, the weakness is short-lived as Stiles goes to open his mouth again and most likely accuse him of even more disgusting acts.

“Will you shut up?” Derek's voice is harsh and unforgiving, finger pointing accusingly at the teenager on the bed. 

Stiles is quick to shut his mouth, knowing in the back of his mind that he’d gone too far...said too much. The last thing you want to do when kidnapped is piss off the murderer who fucking kidnapped you. 

“I was trying to take off your jeans because they’re covered in mud, Stiles,” Derek explains slowly, gesturing to the dirt caking the denim at the bottom of the boys legs and how it was all over the sheets. 

Stiles goes rigid as Derek straightens his posture, hand pushing his hair from his face and stepping towards the bed again. He hesitates before reaching for the boy’s jeans this time, though Stiles doesn’t fight again. He sits still and quiet, shaking softly and staring at the tv across the room as the sound of his zipper fills his ears. A tear slips out of his eyes and his bound hands dart to wipe it away, Derek seeming to pay him no mind as one of those thick arms wraps around his waist. 

Derek’s strength easily lifts Stiles enough off the bed to tug the jeans down to his thighs, the rest easy from there. Then Stiles’ legs are bare to the room, the air feeling warm enough to not warrant any goosebumps. He’s glad that his boxers are completely ignored, though Derek does unkindly snatch his socks from his feet. The man steps into the bathroom and leaves the clothes in there for now, returning to the bed. 

He stands at the foot of it with his arms crossed over his chest, face stern and brows furrowed slightly as he looks down at Stiles. If Stiles didn’t feel stupid before, he sure fucking does now. Like a toddler on the naughty step, he can't bear to keep his eyes on Derek with that glare directed at him, quickly looking down at his hands. 

“I’m..I’m sorry,” his voice croaks out, unsure as to whether Derek even wanted an apology from him. The man was still rather hard to read. 

“I know you are. We’ll talk about your little stunt after you’ve eaten.”

Stiles doesn’t look up as Derek moves towards the kitchen area, feeling shame twist in his stomach. He’s going to get punished, he knows he is. He fucking kicked him. He kicked a guy that kills people. Good going, Stilinski. Though, a part of him is somewhat grateful that Derek is deciding to put Stiles’ general health before any sort of punishment. Stiles was starving.

He glances up when Derek returns from the kitchen with a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon, the meat shredded into easy bite sized pieces. The food smells honestly delicious, Stiles’ mouth watering at the scent alone. He can’t be bothered to think about where Derek got bacon and eggs from. But what he does question is how he’s going to eat the food with his hands tied like this. 

His unspoken question is answered when the bed dips with Derek's weight, the man perching himself just in front of Stiles with a calm expression. The bastard was probably thinking about all the ways he could torture Stiles for kicking him, the boy thought. Fork in hand, Derek carefully scoops some of the food on to it before holding it to Stiles’ lips. The action takes a moment to process in the boy’s brain and he blinks as he realises what Derek was doing. Derek was feeding him. 

He gives a small whine of humiliation, hands trying to reach up together to take hold of the fork. But the rope is just too short and Derek almost smirks as the fingertips barely brush his knuckles, bumping the fork against Stiles’ lips to encourage him to eat. 

“Come on, Stiles. It’ll go cold.”

Stiles gives another whine, reluctant to give in to the man but god is he hungry. And Derek probably knows this as well. He pouts and tries to turn his head away before thinking long term. If he wants to get out, he’d need all the strength he could get. And so, as Stiles’ eyes flutter shut, his mouth opens cautiously and allows for Derek to feed him his first bite of breakfast.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this sooner than I had planned since I just couldn't wait
> 
> Warnings: spanking on thighs with a riding crop

Stiles, reluctantly, has to admit that the food tasted as delicious as it smelt. The presentation on the plate wasn’t all too appealing, with it all just being in one huge pile, but he figures it was all going to the same place anyways so did it really matter that much?. However, the humiliation that came along with Derek hand feeding him each bite, making sure he’d swallowed the last mouthful before even scooping more up on the fork, never lessened. It was another thing that Derek could hold over Stiles, taking as much power away from the boy as he could. Not only did he now control when Stiles ate, but where he was positioned, when he could go to the bathroom, and scariest of all, whether Stiles lived or not. 

As soon as the plate is empty of food, which Stiles thought was far too soon for his liking, Derek gently places the fork down on the plate and pushes himself up from the bed. Stiles licks at his lips to get one last taste of the greasy goodness, holding back his moan of delight at the flavour. He hadn’t tasted breakfast that good in years, mostly because he’d always end up sleeping too late to have enough time to make anything besides cereal before rushing off to school. And his dad was never really around that late to make it for him, having already gone to work by then.

Stiles watches as Derek moves away from the bed, and thankfully away from him, and back into that kitchen again. Quiet fell as Derek stood in front of a sink, tap turning on and letting the sound of the water fill the air. Stiles shifts where he’s sitting on the bed, looking around the room again to entertain himself. Maybe he could ask Derek to put the tv on, at least for some noise so he didn’t go crazy. Hell, he wouldn’t even mind if Derek picked the show. The silence between them was almost suffocating for Stiles. Derek liked it when he talked before, so not talking with Derek felt...odd. 

The sound of the plate and fork being put away pulls Stiles attention back to the man as he steps into the main room. His eyes rake over Stiles before moving over to the coffee table that held the duffel bag. Oh shit, yeah...his punishment. Stiles suddenly feels like his breakfast is going to reappear, biting down on his tongue to stop his nerves getting the best of himself and control any chance of him vomiting.. He had barely hurt Derek with his kick, surely it wouldn’t garner that much of a punishment. Right? 

Derek is bent over, rummaging around in the bag and looking for whatever he needs. His hands pull out a bundle of rope, zip ties, and even a fucking hammer, all as he continues to search. It drags on almost agonizingly slow for Stiles, the boy having started to chew at his lip to focus on something else, when Derek pulls what he was searching for out of the bag with a triumphant hum.

In his grip is something Stiles had only ever seen when getting a little too adventurous when watching porn. A riding crop. It’s made of black leather and looks sleek, just like everything Derek owned apparently. He flexes it between his hands, bending it slightly to test it and then brings it down suddenly to smack it on his own palm. The sound that echoes, the slap on the skin, has Stiles jumping where he’s sitting, not falling backwards only due to the fact that he was anchored to the bed frame in front of him. His eyes are wide and trained on Derek, watching with bated breath how the man's muscles move under his skin to use the crop, showing off his strength to the boy tethered to the bed. 

“You don’t have to be afraid, Stiles,” Derek speaks to break the silence, his voice not the usual scary tone it would take when angry. Instead, it's rather calm and collected, as if punishing a teenage boy you’ve kidnapped is a completely normal occurrence. 

It seemed, at the very least, that Derek didn’t want to be in an angered rage when he acted out the punishment. Of course, a punishment would be necessary for each time Stiles acted out, but it would be of no use in teaching the boy a lesson if it was simply just out of anger.That would only scare the boy more, and a scared Stiles would make more mistakes than necessary. He wanted Stiles to be smart...just like him.

“I want you to lay on your stomach, so your feet are on the pillows,” Derek instructs, keeping his calm gaze on Stiles as he stalks towards the bed. 

When Stiles hesitates to follow Derek's command, the crop slaps on Derek's palm again as a warning. It’s enough to make Stiles alert, his legs scrambling to kick out behind himself and his face hitting the sheets with no grace at all. Stiles shifts using his elbows to wedge his arms under his chest, giving himself some sort of leverage and so he didn’t suffocate pressing his face into the sheets. Derek had reached the side of the bed by then.

“I’m going to use this crop to spank the backs of your thighs. Here,” the tip of Derek's finger brushes along the skin just above the inside of his knee on his left leg before drifting to the same space on his right leg. “And here. Five for each thigh. Ten in total. I’d like for you to count them, Stiles. I enjoy hearing your voice.”

Everything about the man was so methodical. So precise, it was terrifying. The way his touch barely lingers on Stiles’ bare legs just to make him shiver. To make him anticipate the pain that was about to bloom there. But on top of all that, he was complimenting Stiles. Giving him bursts of positivity to lighten the horror of the situation. Stiles was lost in his own mind, the compliment to his voice having grappled at him all too tightly, when the first hit came down on his skin. 

The pain was harsh, like a stinging sensation, though it faded after a moment to not be too bad. Stiles had yelped at the initial hit, having not expected it without any warning from the man first. Though perhaps he had spoken and Stiles was just too stuck on that damn compliment. Stupid Derek. The boy grit his teeth and curled his hands into fists, shutting his eyes as he spoke. 

“One.”

It continued for a good while, with each smack of the crop being administered to alternating thighs. Derek pauses between each one, fingers rubbing gently at the glow red marks that were starting to appear on the backs of the boy’s thighs. The first of many marks to come. Stiles would hiss with pain every time Derek would pay attention to his thighs, the noises growing in volume but never snapping words at him. He didn’t want to earn more hits than this. However, when it felt too much, he would kick his other leg slightly and the man would get the hint and leave him alone. At least Derek respected him that much. 

“Ten!” Stiles gasps out the final number, tears having sprung to his eyes. Derek had done that one particularly hard on purpose, the pain having already been increasing over time as the hits had been layered, Stiles literally growling when Derek's fingers even brushed it. 

“Don’t touch, it fucking hurts,” the boy grits out, Derek sighing softly but retracted his fingers. 

Stiles decides he’d had enough touching from the man for today, especially in the areas he was hurting. He watches with careful and slightly wet eyes as Derek trudges back to the duffel bag and packs all the items back inside as if nothing had happened. Stiles dreaded to see what else was tucked away in there if that was just his first punishment. 

Derek returns to his side, after a moment, and helps the boy sit back up, not speaking a word as he did so. He’s smart enough to not let his hands go anywhere near Stiles’ thighs, unless he wanted another kick to his leg. And once Stiles is sat up again, straightening his back out a little, Derek comes to sit in front of him again. 

“There we go. Clean slate now, okay?” He speaks gently like Stiles was a wounded child, thumb wiping away what remains of Stiles’ tears of pain and embarrassment. 

“Yeah...clean slate,” Stiles mutters in a simple reply. 

At least now he knew to give verbal responses and Derek seemed pleased that he didn't have to press him. The man pushes himself to his feet, stretching his arms high above his head with his back to the boy. The clock on the wall read 10.30. They had the whole day left together, and Stiles wondered how Derek planned to keep a kid with ADHD entertained.

“Hey,” Stiles’ voice catches Derek by surprise, turning around to look over his shoulder at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Hey,” he returns, head tilted as he watches the teenager. Waiting patiently to see what he would say next. 

“Can you put the tv on? Please?”

Derek‘s tongue moves to poke into his cheek at Stiles’ request, looking as if he was considering it. His gaze moves to cast upon the small tv, the remote laid right next to it, and then he looks back at Stiles.

“Okay. Thank you for asking politely. I knew you were bound to grow bored quickly,” he comments as he steps over to the tv.

He bends down to turn it on, the screen flickering to life as his hand swipes for the remote. Derek takes a step back to examine the screen, searching through the limited channels to find something he feels would be suitable for Stiles. He eventually settles on some kids channel, a cartoon of some superheroes lighting up the screen, then places the remote back where it was. Far away from the teenager, Stiles notes. Though not before he turns the volume down, as it had blasted on loudly when he’d first turned it on.

Derek lets himself look one last time at Stiles, seeing how the boy is easily captivated by the animated show, and then he disappears into the kitchen. Stiles doesn’t mind being left alone for the time being, wanting his legs to stop their aching. And it allowed him to think on his own. When he’d been picked up by Derek, he didn’t have much in his pockets. The dead torch, his broken phone, wallet, and keys to his jeep. All of which had been in his now missing coat. But even if he were to find his coat, nothing besides his wallet would be of any use to him. That was if Derek hadn’t thrown all that stuff out already.

To escape from the ropes would be a task all of its own. Derek seemed adamant that they stay on for now, even with him just a few feet away. Plus the knots were strong and the rope was thick. Even if he were to get out of the ropes, then he’d have to battle the locks on the door. There was one keyhole, presumably locked with a key Derek wouldn’t let Stiles even see, and then a padlocked bolt. Stiles guessed that the padlock was Derek's own touch, for added security. 

He sighed softly and lowered his head to press his hands to his face, touching over where his pain was raditiating from. His temple. Flecks of blood scraped off on his nails and he winced at the touch, figuring since Derek hadn’t undressed him then he hadn’t washed him either. Stiles somewhat was thankful. Though, judging by how Derek didn’t like the dirty jeans, the boy doubted he’d like a dirty Stiles either and bath time would come around eventually. Whether Stiles liked it or not. 

Though for now, with aching thighs and a dull ache throbbing through his head, Stiles allows for himself to detach from the world around him and focus on the tv. Teen Titans. He loves that show, a smile twitching at his lips as he watches Robin backflip on to the scene. If they were real heroes, Stiles knew he’d call for them. But they aren't real. They're just characters in a fictional world, Stiles reminds himself and lets his shoulders slump.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet another chapter for you lovely people. It's been fun to write this and I know it's not been too dark so far but I guess I'm a sucker for that slow burn feel oops 
> 
> Warnings: nudity and bathing. Derek touching Stiles, non sexually. Rope being used as restraints.

Teen Titans turned into Dexter’s Lab, which then turned into Johnny Bravo, and before long Stiles had noticed that a few hours had gone by. The entire time he’d been sat here quietly, fidgeted during the ad breaks, Derek hadn’t come near him once. Hell, the man hadn’t even left the kitchen he’d disappeared into. Taking his eyes away from the tv, Stiles tries to crane his neck to see if he could catch a glimpse of the man. 

If he leaned forward just enough over the bed frame, he was able to see Derek sitting at the small round table. His posture is worse than Stiles expected, having thought Derek would be stickler for a straight back and what not. Though he’s slightly hunched over, peering at a map spread out across the table. Probably already anticipating their next move. Stiles’ dad would figure out that his kid is missing by tonight at the latest, with him most likely having assumed Stiles had gone to school in the morning. Then maybe he’d think Stiles had gone to Scott’s afterwards, meaning the sheriff would eventually call Scott’s house that evening if there was no sign of Stiles still. 

The teenager huffs out a breath and focuses his attention back on the tv, trying to stretch out his legs and wincing as the sheets irritate his sore thighs. The pain gives him a mental reminder to not lash out at Derek again, at least not until he was healed. The punishment was as painful as it was humiliating and Stiles could not bear to go through it again so soon. If he had an issue with what Derek was doing then he’d just use his voice, that Derek apparently loved so much. 

The thought makes Stiles roll his eyes and groan, shoulders slumped and now unable to focus on the cartoons. He needed more stimulation than this. He needed Derek to not ignore him from the other room, as much as he hated to admit it. Looking to the clock, he sees that it was nearing 2pm now, hands clapping together as a way to entertain himself. His wrists were still somewhat sore too, though he hoped that a nice shower or bath could ease the skin. Maybe he could ask for a wash now? He wouldn’t mind too much even if Derek was in the room with him, just as long as the man didn’t stare for too long. 

Stiles doesn't notice how loud and quickly he was clapping his hands together and huffing constantly until an uncomfortably warm and large hand envelops both of his in one grasp. His eyes snap away from the peeling wallpaper he was staring at, and right into Derek's concerned gaze. Oh shit. He hadn’t even heard Derek approaching him, far too lost in his own busy mind to notice a single thing around him. This didn’t bode well for Stiles in the long run, did it?

“Are you bored, Stiles?” Derek asks softly, thumb running gently over the boys knuckles is some lame attempt at soothing the jittery thing. 

The teenager paused, mouth slightly open as he tried to figure out how exactly to respond. Technically, he was bored. However, judging by the lack of contents the room had, he was rather unsure as to what Derek's idea of entertainment might be. Especially since turning the damn tv on had been Stiles’ idea in the first place. 

“Or did you just want my attention?” 

A flirting smile lifted to Derek's lips and Stiles’ felt a shudder rack through his body. God. Oh god no. His intention had not been that at all! He shakes his head desperately, and tries to yank his hands back out of Derek's hold. But the man doesn’t relent. His smile slowly drops to his usual blank face and then he's peering over his shoulder at the clock. 

“How about this, Stiles. It’s getting a little late now for lunch so we can have an early dinner. But you’ve got to let me bathe you first. You’re filthy,” Derek states and Stiles gulps, not liking the tone used towards him. 

Derek seemed put off by Stiles’ distaste towards him, which was more than evident at Stiles’ outright denial of trying to get his attention. The kid was not going to warm up to some murdering kidnapper, but he would make things easy enough for himself to survive.

“A bath sounds nice,” came Stiles' surprisingly pleasant response after his miniscule freak out just moments ago. Play nice. That's all he had to do. 

Derek responds to the words with a pleased grin and he lets go of the teens hands, straightening his back and heading towards the bathroom without a word. He leaves Stiles on the bed for now, the sound of running water soon filling the room. Derek does that thing again where he leaves Stiles alone, saying nothing as he sorts things out. Just like when he was quiet about rummaging through the bag for the riding crop or when he went to get breakfast this morning. He would somewhat explain what was going to happen before he would disappear to organise things himself, leaving most of the details a mystery to Stiles. 

The boy lets himself drift back to watch the tv for a short while as he waits for Derek to finish whatever the hell he was doing in the bathroom. He can hear the background noise of the water and various clattering sounds under the noise of his cartoon. It was Batman this time. Something Stiles would have usually enjoyed, if it wasn’t for his current predicament. 

About ten minutes went by, Stiles staring blankly at the tv screen and giving no usual joyous reaction as Batman punched the Joker square in the face, before Derek emerged from the bathroom. He steps over to Stiles and ruffles his hair, Stiles feeling how his fingers thread through the strands. He was just testing whether he needed to wash his hair, not to be actually nice. The boy rolls his eyes at the action, thankfully going unnoticed, and then gestures his bound hands to Derek. 

“Bath time?” he hums and Derek nods, hands moving to grab at the rope that connected Stiles to the bed frame. 

Fingers work easily to untie the knot, Stiles surprisingly compliant for the time being. The punishment seems to have worked at least. Derek gives him a moment to stretch his legs before he watches as Stiles slides off the sheets and stands for the first time since last night. Almost instantly, his thighs tremble and his waist is caught by Derek, the hold forcing Stiles to be pressed tight against the naked torso. Derek’s other hand keeps hold of the rope, letting it stay slack in front of them for now.

Stiles takes each step carefully towards the bathroom, Derek guiding each movement and keeping Stiles pressed to his side. The man was warm, an uncomfortable feeling for Stiles to be held up against, his face pulled in disgust the entire trip to the bathroom. Derek pushes Stiles into the room in front of him, making the kid walk backwards so that the bound hands are between them. Stiles cranes his neck to see the full tub behind himself, stepping cautiously until the rope pulls tight, signalling that Derek had stopped. 

He reaches behind himself and flicks the lock on the door shut, the both of them now trapped within the confined space. Well, okay, the space wasn’t that cramped. It had a bath and shower combo opposite the door, sink unit with counter and mirror on the right side of the door, and the toilet on the left. 

“Sit,” Derek instructs and points to the toilet. 

He doesn't move an inch until Stiles begrudgingly drops himself on to the cold toilet seat lid. The freezing plastic against his bare thighs causes goosebumps and a shiver runs down Stiles’ spine. Derek stands unwavering, waiting until Stiles is seated before he turns around. He slots a key into the lock and twists it, Stiles hearing the click and knowing he’s stuck. 

“I’m going to take off your shirt and underwear, okay? I’ll untie the rope to take the shirt off, ” Derek says as he turns back around, pocketing the key as he does so. 

The tone is softer this time, it clear that after their last scene involving Derek trying to remove Stiles’ clothes the man had learnt his lesson. Warn the kid first. Stiles gives a nod in response and, this time, he’s not pressed for a verbal reply. His breathing stays calm as Derek crouches down in front of him and takes his hands. The knot comes undone with relative ease and Derek pulls it away from Stiles’ wrists, throwing it aside for the time being. 

Stiles takes the moment of relief to rub at his wrists, wincing at the pain from his skin. It looked irritated and red, Derek's thumb swiping over it before large hands grab at the hem of his shirt. The boy barely has time to think when the fabric is ripped off over his head, getting caught a little on his chin, though it's not a hard task to remove. Derek places the shirt on the counter, easily reaching behind himself to do so whilst staying in front of Stiles, and then comes the tricky part. 

“You don’t have to worry, Stiles. It's nothing I haven't seen before. I used to have to help change my siblings and cousins all the time,” Derek tries to soothe the boy, though the choice of words just embarrasses Stiles even more. 

Did Derek just think of him like some little kid? An inconvenience in his plan? Stiles gives a huff in reply and moves his hands to position just in front of his crotch, ready to cover his dick and balls when Derek eventually removes his boxers. It’s far too intimate how slowly Derek's fingers hook into the elastic waistband, the man’s eyes locked on Stiles’ lower half. There was a slight curl to his lips and Stiles guesses that the psycho is finding his choice of boxers cute. There were mostly a dark navy blue, though scattered with little golden stars. What? Stiles liked them and it’s not like he expected anyone to fucking see them anyways. 

Agonisingly slow, Derek's fingers guide the boxers off of Stiles’ hips. The man almost tuts at how the boy’s hip bones jut out, muttering something under his breath about eating more. More of the pale skin is exposed as Derek eases the fabric out of the way, Stiles’ hand refusing to let him catch even a glimpse of dick for as soon as the boxers are past that point his hands are firmly cupping himself. The boxers are placed with the t-shirt and Derek leans over toward the bath, dipping his hand into the water and then extracting it. 

“Can I get myself in? Without your help. I don’t want you looking.”

Derek glances up to Stiles as the boy speaks, plucking a towel from a radiator on the wall and wiping his hand dry as he considers the request. After a moment of thought, his head slowly nods. 

“Alright. I’ll turn around and you can get yourself in. But don’t try anything, Stiles,”

“Fine.”

Stiles waits and watches as Derek pushes himself to his feet, neatly folding the towel up and placing it right back where it came from, and then turned around to face the door. The boy sits on the toilet still for a second, wondering if Derek would go back on his word. Though, once he deems it safe enough, Stiles rises hesitantly from his place. 

He keeps his hands firmly covering himself as he steps over the side of the bath and into the water, a soft sigh leaving his lips as how amazingly warm the water was. He swore he hadn’t had a bath since he was a kid, so used to a rushed shower, that the feeling of sinking his body into the heated water felt divine. Stiles lets his hands drop between his legs to cover himself for now, clearing his throat to signal to Derek that he was in the tub. 

As soon as Stiles coughs, Derek is glancing over his shoulder. It isn’t subtle in the slightest, his whole torso practically twisting with him as he does. And then the rest of his body follows suit, nearing the bath and crouching down again to be at a more level height with Stiles. He flashes the boy a smile before grabbing at a cloth and a bottle from the counter, busying himself with opening the bottle as he begins to speak. 

“I’m going to wash you, okay Stiles? It’s not because I have any ill intent, trust me. I just like my things to be cleaned a particular way. But how about a deal?” his eyes almost sparkle as he looks to Stiles, hand holding the cloth and squirting some of the body wash on to it. 

“A deal?” Stiles questions with a furrowed brow. A deal with Derek did not sound pleasant at all, and it was rubbing him up the wrong way that Derek had referred to Stiles as a possession of his. He wasn’t a toy for the man, or a shiny new car. He was a human being. 

“If you sit still and answer a few questions so I can get to know you, I’ll let you wash your own crotch, yeah?” 

The deal was downright evil. It sounded simple enough, just answering questions and the man wouldn’t fondle his junk. but Stiles couldn’t be sure what questions would even be asked of him. He really did not want Derek going anywhere near his dick though. 

“Deal.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter for you lovely people! thank you for any kudos or comments you leave, it's always nice to see that support. and as always, I'll see you in hell :)
> 
> Warnings - bathing, rope used as restraints, Stiles being dressed by Derek

The water is warm though the body wash is cold, making Stiles shiver as Derek presses the cloth to his shoulder. He begins to work it in circles, building up a lather on the boy’s skin as he slowly works down the arm. It would’ve been nice, tender almost, if the situation was different. 

“So, you’re at school, right?” Derek asks after a moment of quiet, eyes staying on the motions that his hand made.

“Uh..yeah. I’m seventeen,'' Stiles makes a point in saying his age, just to solidify to Derek that he would be a predator if he tried anything with the boy. 

Derek doesn’t even blink. 

“Do you have a favourite school subject?”

Stiles actually scoffs at the question, a hint of amusement on his face. Did Derek really just ask him that? What sort of shit is he gonna get out of Stiles by asking that crap? Stiles holds in the slightest chuckle before looking at Derek's expression. Oh my god, he was serious.

“My favourite subject? Are you...are you aware that you’re talking to a teenager with adhd? School is school,” Stiles rushes out, shrugging his shoulders as his mind dwells on the thought for a moment. “I mean, I guess I like science. I want to go into forensics. Y’know, catch murderers and stuff?”

That comment earns him a pinch to the inside of his elbow and a warning glare from Derek. Right, yeah, don’t push your luck Stilinski. Though, it seems that Derek isn’t too phased by the snarky comment and resumes his cleaning of the boy. 

“Any extracurriculars?” Derek then hums, his hand moving now to clean across Stiles’ chest. 

Thankfully, the man doesn’t linger on the area too much, simply wiping over his nipples without giving them stimulation. Stiles turns his head to stare at the tiled wall as he speaks. 

“Lacrosse.”

The one word makes Derek's eyes snap up to him, almost in disbelief. That alone makes Stiles’ cheeks flush pink. Is it really that shocking for a boy like him to be into sports? 

“You play lacrosse?” Derek asks for clarification, watching as Stiles nods his head and then his larger hand fully encircles the boy’s bicep, squeezing the flesh gently. “With these arms?”

Derek chuckles softly at his own words and Stiles can’t help himself but join in. It did seem a little ridiculous that some skinny, lanky limbed teenager would play such a sport. Well, play was a push.

“Technically, I am on the team,” Stiles says, tilting his head a little and turning to look at the hand on his arm. Derek gets the message and lets go. “I just haven’t played any games yet. Though I’m not the worst during practise, at the very least.”

His willingness to answer the questions so honestly (because who would lie about that shit?) makes Derek nod in return, a smile gracing his lips at the casual conversation between them. Though Stiles’ is swiftly reminded of the task at hand when Derek leans more over the tub to reach his other arm to clean it. 

“Is there anything else you like doing, besides lacrosse?” the man hums as he scrubs as Stiles skin. “Just so I can think about ways to stop your active little mind from growing bored so fast.”

The smile that is flashed at Stiles isn’t the most comforting, and neither were the words that went along with it. It only cemented the fact that Stiles was to be with Derek for the long run. An escape so soon would be impossible. For all Stiles knew, his dad had no idea he was even missing yet. So if he could just play along for now and get Derek to trust him, then it would work out better down the line. 

“I like comics. DC mostly, though Marvel isn’t bad either. Batman is my favourite though,” Stiles explains quietly, feeling a little uneasy about sharing his special interest with this man. 

“Alright, well, I’m sure I can get my hands on some comics for you. No problem,” Derek says and lets his arm rest on the side of the tub, having stopped his cleaning for now. 

Stiles pauses as he watches how the man relaxes, eyes draping over the boy’s body and getting a good look. He probably knew it would be his last look in a while, if Stiles had his way. Stiles’ hands are still protective of his crotch and as soon as Derek's gaze lands upon that area, the man must remember their deal. 

“Okay, Stiles. Here you go,” Derek hands out the cloth to him, placing the bodywash on the edge of the bathtub and patting his shoulder. “You can clean your lower half since you answered my questions so nicely. Just do it well, or I’ll take over.”

The words are gentle but the warning is there, Stiles quickly nodding his head to get the man to leave him alone. Derek seems pleased enough and pushes himself to stand, turning his attention to the numerous packets by the sink that Stiles hadn’t noticed before. He begins to scrub at his dick, wanting to get that part over with sooner rather than later, as he tries to see what Derek was doing. The man isn’t really hiding his actions and Stiles can see as Derek unpackages a new toothbrush and places it into a little glass cup by the sink. Next he opens the toothpaste and that joins the toothbrush in the cup, Derek smiling to himself once that's done and Stiles turns his attention to his task. 

He spends a good while scrubbing at his skin to get the dirt off, mostly because of the amount that had got on his ankles. The rain and mud must’ve been worse than he realized when traipsing through it, having to pick some bits off of his leg hairs. He does a thorough job of the cleaning, making sure to even get between his toes and pick under his nails to really please Derek. After all, the best plan for the time being was to just play along, whether he liked it or not. 

“Done,'' Stiles announces and places the cloth on the edge of the bath after wringing it out, hands back between his legs before Derek can turn around. 

The man approaches the bath and peers into the murky water, brows furrowed as he examines Stiles momentarily. And then he breaks out into a smile, grabbing for the fluffy towel on the radiator. 

“Looks good. Well done, Stiles,” Derek praises and Stiles utterly despises how his stomach flutters. 

He should not be enjoying anything this man said to him, at all. Even if it is the nicest anyone’s spoken to him for a good while. Derek holds the towel out and Stiles realises that he’s not going to be left alone to get dry. Begrudgingly, he pushes himself up and out of the water, stepping carefully on to the mat on the floor, and letting Derek envelope his body in the towel. Stiles shivers once out of the warm water and into the cool air, so the towel already having been heated up slightly by the radiator feels good on his skin. He lets Derek rub his arms to dry him off, then Stiles grabs at the towel to do the rest himself. 

“It’s only…3.45pm right now,” Derek hums, letting go of Stiles and the towel to look at the watch on his wrist as he pulls the plug on the bath so it can drain. “We’ll get you dressed into some spare clothes I have then you can join me in the kitchen whilst I cook dinner, okay?”

“Okay.”

Stiles is finished drying himself when Derek speaks to him, looking up slightly to look at his face as he ends. The towel is wrapped around his shoulders tightly, hiding his body from Derek's gaze, though the man just turns and unlocks the door. They step into the main room and Stiles trots after Derek towards the bed again, spotting a suitcase laying on the floor. Derek crouches by it and opens it up, clothes of all kinds bundled inside. The only concerning part is that none of them look like they’d be Derek's clothes. Which presented the questions, where did Derek get all these from and why the fuck did he have them?

Stiles just stands as Derek rummages through the assortment, plucking out a pair of boxers and then some sweatpants. He places them on the edge of the bed and dives back in to pull out a t-shirt, something that looks kinda big for Stiles. The case is shut and zipped back up, Derek putting the shirt with the rest of the clothes on the bed and looking at Stiles as he stands. 

“Towel,” he says simply and Stiles glares at him. 

He did not want to be completely nude with this man near him. Sure, he had just let Derek bathe him but at least then he could cover himself with his hands. Getting changed would be a bit difficult if he was just going to stand and watch. And so Stiles didn’t move. He stays in place with the towel around him, simply staring at Derek as if he’d spoken gibberish. 

“Stiles.”

His name is used as a warning yet again, the boy biting down on his lip as he wonders how long he could hold out for. Derek was disgustingly patient, and Stiles was...well Stiles was already starting to fear another punishment. He certainly didn’t enjoy the last. Though, as he’s thinking, shuffling about from foot to foot, fidgeting, Derek lets out a deep sigh. 

“Okay, I’ll dress you then.”

The man shrugs and grabs for the boxers, crouching down in front of Stiles and holding the underwear out for him. God, this was even worse. Stiles’ cheeks flush red and he tries to not think about the humiliation he was experiencing. Was he fucking five? He’s hesitant in his actions and not focusing, almost toppling over when Derek's hand grips his ankle. 

Stiles gasps as his foot is yanked up from the floor, hands letting go of the towel and having to grab at the bedframe if he doesn’t want to end up on the floor. His flailing shrugs the towel off his body and Stiles is left nude as Derek stays on the task at hand and firmly plants Stiles’ foot on the floor after threading it through the boxers. His eyes then move to look at the boy's very flushed face, Stiles’ free hand back in front of his crotch again. 

“Put your foot in the underwear, Stiles,” Derek grits out, and it's clear that he’s run out of patience for the time being. 

The boy gulps and nods his head, using the bed to balance as he quickly steps into the boxers. They're plain black though a little tight on him as Derek yanks them up his legs. Stiles didn’t think his thighs were that thick but Derek almost struggles to get them up over his thighs, huffing once the fabric was in place. Stiles breathes a sigh of relief to have his dick covered, wincing as he picks at the fabric to make it somewhat more comfortable whilst Derek grabs for the sweatpants. As he turns around, Stiles snatches the sweatpants from the man's grip, not wanting to go through that again. 

“I’ve got it,” he mumbles and sheepishly steps into the sweatpants and pulls them up. 

These at least seem to fit him, and cover up how the boxers accentuate his ass. He then grabs for the t-shirt, wrinkling his nose up at the graphic on the front. Halo? Really? Stiles rolls his eyes at the ridiculous image of Master Chief on the shirt as he tugs it on, it hanging loose on his body. Derek had disappeared briefly into the bathroom before returning with that dreaded rope and a small tub. He sits himself on the edge of the bed and places the rope next to him, taking a gentle hold of Stiles’ hands and putting them in front of himself. 

He twists the tub open and there's a sort of white cream inside, Stiles frowning as Derek scoops some up on his fingers and starts to rub it carefully into his sore skin. The man works it into the rope burns and then places it aside, hand hovering over the rope as he considers something. 

“I don’t want to aggravate your wrists anymore, Stiles,” Derek mutters, almost as if thinking aloud to himself. “So, how about you join me in the kitchen and I’ll tie your legs to the chair, okay?”

Stiles debates the offer as it’s given to him. The unspoken option, to have his wrists bound again, isn’t appealing at all to the boy. Though, frankly, neither is being tied to a chair by his legs. 

“Can’t...can’t I just sit there? Without the rope?” Stiles tries, wringing his hands together with a hint of nervousness.

It would be an utter miracle if Derek trusted him already, though Stiles is hoping he might. He’d been behaving so far, minus the kick, though he’d been punished for that and he’d been fine since. His eyes looked hopefully to Derek, but the man’s face was stern. 

“Not a chance,” Derek says and stands, one hand grabbing for the rope and the other grips at Stiles' hand. 

Without a warning, he starts to walk towards the kitchen and drags Stiles along with him. The boy can only inwardly cringe at the fact that Derek's hand is holding tight to his, enveloping it fully. Stiles has no choice but to enter the kitchen with Derek, the man’s happy attitude after the bath now wiped away. Derek almost shoves him down into the seat, crouching down once Stiles is sat and he brings the rope around Stiles’ leg. 

He twists it around his left leg first, just above his ankle, and then ties it in a knot. Derek then pulls the rope around the boy's leg and the leg of the chair, slightly under Stiles’ knee, and ties that into a knot too. He stays there for a moment, examining his own handiwork before standing and leaving the room without a word. Stiles doesn’t dare ask where he’s going. It's barely been a minute when Derek returns with a second length of rope, and a t-shirt Stiles notes, repeating his first process on Stiles’ right leg. 

“There we go,” Derek hums in satisfaction, standing to his full height as he tugs the shirt over his bare chest. 

He circles around the chair to reach the back of it, hands pushing the chair to fit Stiles neatly under the table. With the ropes now hidden from obvious view, it’s almost a normal image. However, the sudden change in Derek's attitude had startled Stiles, spiking his anxiety about the situation. He has to remember what Derek is, he tells himself. This man was a killer and there was no doubt that if Stiles became too much for him to bother with, he’d join those limbs in the back seat of the car. 

Derek moves himself towards the fridge in the kitchen, Stiles letting himself take in the small space. There wasn’t much counter space, just enough for one person to be cooking. A standard oven and hob, as well as a simple sink. There's a few cupboards which Stiles can only guess hold either food or plates, and a microwave tucked into a corner. Derek starts to pull out some vegetables from the fridge, Stiles watching as he uses another key to unlock a cupboard to take out a knife. Of course Derek wasn't stupid enough to leave potential weapons in a plain old drawer. Stiles sighs softly at the fact, Derek picking up on the sound as he turns around and looks to the boy. 

“How does chicken, vegetables, and potatoes sound?”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this one a little earlier for y'all x enjoy the cuteness while it lasts :)
> 
> Warnings: Peter...enough said

Derek was being horrifically nice and it was making Stiles hate him even more. He’s expecting to be ignored throughout the process of making dinner, what with how focused Derek seemed when getting out the ingredients. But then Derek had asked his opinion on his choice of meal, he was being serious about it, wanting Stiles to be involved.

“We’ve got green beans, broccoli, carrots,” Derek lists off as he holds out each item to Stiles, eyes studying the boy's face to gauge his reaction to them, “or how about asparagus?”

Stiles pulls a face at the suggestions and Derek sighs softly, placing the options down on the table in front of the boy. And once his hands are free, they scoop up Stiles’ own hands to place them above the table, having noticed that they’d gone under the surface. 

“Keep your hands above the table, please. And we have to eat at least two veggies, Stiles. Pick two,” Derek hums and turns his back on the boy to focus on peeling and chopping the potatoes. 

Stiles stares at the choices on the table, really not wanting to be a part of the dinner process. He would’ve preferred to sit in silence and let Derek take control, since he was the kidnapper after all. Though, the man seemed more and more adamant to have this strange relationship with Stiles. Stiles just wasn’t entirely sure what the relationship was. 

His eyes cast over the vegetables and he turned his nose up at the asparagus, remembering when his dad tried to cook it for them once. It tasted gross as hell, and Stiles did not want that again. So, he pushes that one aside and then considers the other three. It takes not even a second for Stiles to shove the broccoli aside and leaves the green beans and the carrots closest to Derek. 

The man is unaware of the choice as he whistles to himself, preparing the potatoes and dropping them into a pan of water. As he turns to put the peelings in the trash, he sees the separation of the veggies and smiles softly. 

“Thank you, Stiles,” he praises him gently and scoops up the unwanted greens to put back in the fridge. 

Once those are away and the peelings have been thrown out, Derek grabs for the chosen vegetables and starts to prepare the meal properly. Stiles doesn't really have much to do and his ears pick up on the sound of the tv that had been left on in the main room. If he leans back and twists his torso just enough, he could catch a glimpse of the show that was now playing, smiling softly to himself at the sight. 

“Whats on?” Derek asks to make polite conversation. 

And Stiles answers the question without registering it. 

“Ed, Edd, and Eddy.”

It’s not until Derek's amused chuckle when Stiles realises that he had casually responded to Derek. He was being stupid. He’s starting to not think. Stiles slaps his forehead lightly to focus himself, making a point to fall quiet for the rest of cooking dinner, much to Derek's disappointment. Each time the man tries to ask him a simple question, to get to know more about him, it's met with silence. And when Derek looks to Stiles to check on him, the boy’s gaze isn’t anywhere in his direction. He’s just staring blankly at a wall. And so, Derek huffs and settles into the same silence as Stiles.

Dinner is soon served, a plate placed in front of Stiles. He notes how all his food is cut up into easy bites, Derek slowly placing only a fork next to it. His glare is warning enough, Stiles picking the fork up and starting to shove the food into his mouth. It, again, isn’t bad. Derek seemed a competent enough cook, something that Stiles could appreciate. At least he wouldn’t die from starvation. 

They eat without speaking to each other, a glass of water set down by both their plates which they occasionally sip from. Stiles finds the quiet rather calming, his anxiety from the bathing and getting dressed having slipped away. Though just as Derek's collecting their empty plates to deposit in the sink, that fear and anxiety spikes again when a harsh knock comes to the door. 

Stiles’ breath hitches and his head snaps to stare at the door with wide eyes, all the fear from the previous night seeping back into his bones. Who the fuck was that? Would Derek kill them if they knew Stiles had been kidnapped? He can feel himself panicking, eyes darting to Derek as if the man could answer all his questions. Derek doesn’t look at him for the longest time, not until a second knock comes. Though this one is knocked in a distinct pattern, and the tension leaves Derek's shoulders.

“Coming,” he calls through the room and places the plates down into the sink. 

He collects the cutlery before Stiles can swipe his fork to protect himself, as well as the cups, to leave the table empty. Derek doesn't even really acknowledge Stiles, merely glancing at him, before trudging over to the door. He fiddles with the padlock and then unlocks the door with a key, opening it just enough for another man to slip through the crack. This man looked similar to Derek, with the shape of his face and piercing eyes. Though the hair was lighter, his build was not as strong, and his age showed. 

“You’ve just missed dinner, sorry,” Derek mutters his apology to the stranger, his eyes soon following the gaze to see Stiles staring in utter fear at the two of them. 

Derek sighs softly and steps towards the kitchen, gesturing to the sofa for the man. He doesn't hesitate in making himself comfortable as Derek comes to crouch before Stiles again, hands hovering over the knot in one of the ropes. 

“Who...who is that?” Stiles whispers, his voice shaking ever so slightly and hunching forward so that Derek could hear as he kept his voice down. 

“That’s Peter. My uncle.”

And with that, Derek unties the ropes connecting Stiles to the chair. He does the right leg and then the left, massaging each area that the rope had restrained to ease any ache it might’ve caused the boy. Meanwhile, Stiles is slack jaw. His eyes are locked on the wall, unable to believe this was all happening. Is Derek's uncle in on this? Did they kill people together? Is peter here to kill Stiles? He’s starting to really panic, his breathing picking up to the point that his chest is heaving. Once the ropes are gone, Derek stands and holds out a hand for him, though Stiles doesn't take it. It's a moment before Derek realises what’s happening. 

“Shit.”

Derek is quick to crouch before the boy again, hands grabbing at his shoulders and shaking him softly. Stiles can feel the touch on his shoulders and the jostling, wide eyes locked on Derek's face. He can see the man’s mouth moving, though he’s too caught up in his own panic to register any noise. His heart is hammering in his chest, nails digging into his thighs when a harsh slap suddenly hits the back of his head. 

He jolts forward at the smack, hands scrambling to grab onto Derek for balance. Stiles is practically now in the man’s lap, the back of his head aching with the pain but it's enough to shock him to reality. Taking a moment to gasp in air, his shaking hands hold on to Derek for dear life. And Derek's arms slowly encircle him, holding him loosely but wanting to be comforting. 

“Peter!” his voice is slightly hushed since his mouth is so close to Stiles’ ear, though the tone is stern. “Don’t you dare lay another hand on him.”

Peter simply scoffs.

“He was having a panic attack. He’s fine now though, all thanks to me.”

The man's tone is disgustingly smug and Stiles decides to himself that he would take Derek over Peter any day. He hopes that Peter doesn’t decide to stick around. Slowly, Stiles peels himself away from Derek and the arms let go of him. He takes a second to collect himself, regaining control of his breathing as Derek cups his cheeks to bring their gazes’ together.

“Are you okay now?” he asks gently, eyes warm and filled with concern. 

“Yeah...yeah, I think so,” he whispers in return and Derek nods.

Derek’s hand pushes through Stiles’ hair and then ghosts over the back of his neck before the touch drops from him, gathering the rope back into his hand as he pushes himself to his feet. He holds a hand out for Stiles and the boy takes it this time, letting himself be helped to stand. Stiles glances over his shoulder to eye Peter warily, seeing that he’d returned to the couch after hitting him. Bastard. 

Derek doesn't waste much time and guides Stiles towards the sitting area, however he’s smart enough to keep Stiles away from Peter. Whilst the man lounged in the corner of the sofa, Derek stops Stiles just in front of an armchair. He carefully turns Stiles around and moves his hands behind his back, starting to tie the boy’s wrists together. Stiles doesn’t protest, already on edge with the uncalled for hit, and just wanting to curl up into a chair and watch the tv. 

The rope is laced up to his elbows this time to make it secure, Derek then helping him sit back into the chair and get comfy. Once he’s sure Stiles is okay, and the tv is still playing the cartoons, he sits himself down next to Peter and pinches at the bridge of his nose. 

“Did you really have to hit him?” he asks, sounding rather exasperated. Did Peter always frustrate Derek like this, Stiles wonders.

“What? You usually don’t mind me hitting them,” Peter says. 

Those words have alarm bells ringing in the back of Stiles’ head. Though, for now, he represses them. He’ll ask about that later. When Peter has fucked off. 

“Yeah well, I mind now.”

Stiles’ arms ache behind him in his restraints as the two men trail off into pointless chatter. They discuss the weather over the next week, Peter asking where Derek is planning on going next. Derek doesn't answer. They talk about the price of gas and the expenses of gas stations, Peter asking how long Derek is keeping this one. Derek doesn't answer that one either. It seems that anything, literally anything, surrounding Stiles when it came to questions was going to be ignored. But just as Stiles is starting to fully zone out of their conversion and focus on the tv, Peter's next words catch his attention. 

“I moved that stuff from the back of your car for you,” Peter mumbles to Derek, eyes casting cautiously to Stiles as if unsure how much the kid is aware of.

“Thanks. I’m having to stick around here for just a little longer and it would have started to smell soon,” Derek shrugs in reply, brows furrowed as he focuses on picking some dirt off the arm of the couch.

The room falls mostly quiet after that, just the noise of the tv for an uncomfortably long time. Though Stiles seems to encounter a problem. After almost a whole day of not going and the water at dinner, he desperately needed the bathroom. It feels far too embarrassing to ask to go with Peter here, the man making him extremely uncomfortable. And, on top of that, he doesn’t know if Derek would untie his arms to go meaning that the process would be humiliating. So, for now, he stays quiet and stays at the tv to distract himself, wedging his legs together to hold his bladder as best as he could. 

It feels like forever goes by though when Stiles glances to the clock he can see that it’s only really been half an hour. Derek isn’t very talkative when his uncle is around, mostly just shrugging in response to any questions thrown his way. A lot different to how he acts with Stiles, the boy notes. And before long, Peter must grow bored as he huffs and pushes himself to his feet. 

“I should get going,” he announces, the words perking Derek up and he almost darts to his feet. “After all, I don't want to stink my own car up now, do I?” 

His rhetorical question is directed towards Stiles, with an intense smile and look, but the kid barely looks at him before turning his eyes back to the tv. Fuck that guy. Realising he wouldn’t get a reaction out of the boy, Peter moves towards the door with Derek in tow. They’re muttering back and forth as they go but Stiles doesn’t pay much attention, far too agitated by his aching bladder. He needed peter to fucking leave so he could ask Derek to go to the bathroom already. 

The agonisingly long time it takes for Peter to actually leave makes Stiles almost think Peter knew how desperate he is. It’s a silly thought really, as Peter would have no way of telling if Stiles needed the toilet. Though the thought was still in the boy’s head. His eyes rip away from the tv screen as soon as he hears the clicks of the locks for the door, eyes wide at Derek.

“I need to pee,” he rushes out, trying to hide any hint of whining in his voice. 

Derek is momentarily stunned by the sudden words from Stiles, glancing quickly over his shoulder. He gives a nod and finishes locking the door before moving over to him.

“I’m gonna keep the ropes on you, Stiles,” Derek explains softly, his whole demeanour feeling more relaxed now that Peter wasn’t here. “But it’ll be easy to go if I sit you down on the seat and help you out of your sweatpants and boxers. No touching, yeah?”

“Yeah..no touching...like ever,” Stiles clarifies and Derek lets out a small sigh but does give a nod in response. 

He carefully grips at the ropes behind Stiles and sues them to get the boy to his feet. The trip to the bathroom is more of a hobble this time, with how badly Stiles is trying to hold it in before he gets to the toilet. They step into the bathroom and Derek doesn't bother shutting the door, standing Stiles in front of the toilet. He lets go of the ropes to help tug the sweatpants down and then lifts the lid of the toilet up. 

“I’m gonna pull your boxers down now, Stiles,” Derek warns, and then waits. 

Stiles is proud that his earlier lashing out, despite earning him a punishment, had made Derek more careful around him. He much prefers being told what’s happening first. However, as the fabric of the boxers is tugged, Stiles suddenly realises that he won’t be able to cover himself this time. Before he can protest, his breath caught in his throat, the boxer are around his ankles and he’s bare to Derek. 

Stiles is quick to look behind and then drop himself onto the toilet seat, putting his knees together to try and hide himself from his kidnapper. Though he knows it won’t matter. Derek has just seen his dick. His face is red as he finally lets his bladder go, the noise of it filling the bathroom and it makes Stiles feel worse. This alone was torture enough, never mind the flirting or the punishment or the slap from peter. 

Once he’s done, Stiles tries to wiggle on the seat to shake any last bit out and then he has to face the embarrassment of being redressed.

“Done,” he mumbles.

Derek smiles softly and helps him to stand by grabbing the ropes again, tugging Stiles to his feet. He then crouches in front of the boy to pull the boxers back up, Stiles staring up at the ceiling to pretend that Derek totally wasn’t staring right at his dick. He breathes out a sigh of relief as the boxers and then sweat pants are returned to their previous state. 

His eyes flutter open to reveal Derek approaching him with a small wet cloth, bringing it to his forehead to finally dab at the wound there. Stiles couldn’t feel much pain from it until the cloth applied pressure, wincing slightly but thankful the dried blood was being taken care of. Once Derek is satisfied, he places the cloth into the sink and then checks the time on his watch. Stiles can see that it's nearly 5.30pm. 

“It’s still too early for bed so how about some more tv time? I can try to find us a movie?” Derek offers, tilting his head a little. 

“Uh, sure,” Stiles mumbles in return with a shrug, and it seems to be the correct answer as Derek gives him that charming smile. 

This time, Derek doesn’t grab for the rope to guide him but instead uses a gentle hand on Stiles’ shoulder to usher him towards the couch. He settles Stiles down on the cushion and then tucks himself in the corner of the couch. He hesitates for a moment to grab the remote and then slinks an arm around Stiles’ waist. The boy's eyes pop wide as he’s tugged close to Derek, his back and arms leaning almost fully against the man. And the arm keeps him trapped there, unable to shove it away. 

“Derek…” Stiles whispers, his voice trembling slightly though he tries to hide his building anxiety. 

“Shh..” Derek hushes him, making Stiles’ fear spike even more. “Just sit quietly, Stiles.” 

The instruction doesn't leave much room to argue and Derek doesn't seem to advance his movements any further than simply holding Stiles close. So, for now, the boy swallows his pride and lets his body slump into the muscular build behind him. Derek picks up the remote and browses through the channels until he finds some action movie just starting, smiling as he settles on the option and places the remote aside.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: big warning of rape/non-con here. Derek is not nice. If I've missed tagging anything then please let me know and if anything like this triggers you or you don't want to read this then leave now.

The sound of explosions and gunshots echoed from the tv, Stiles’ eyes flickering around the room as he tried to find something else to entertain himself. Whilst he would usually enjoy a good action movie, especially if it involved super heroes, his current situation was putting him off slightly. Derek hadn’t moved once since the movie started, just sitting quietly and watching it. Whenever Stiles would look away from the screen for too long, Derek's shoulder would nudge him and make him refocus, and it was starting to get on the kid’s nerves. Plus, any time he shifted to get comfortable or ease the ache in his trapped arms, Derek's arm around his waist would squeeze that little bit tighter. 

Stiles is sure the movie must be reaching its climax soon, sighing softly to himself as he grows even more restless. This was boring. At least with the cartoons he could appreciate them fully. This was just a bunch of middle aged white men exploding tall buildings and promptly jumping from them. Stiles gives another sigh and tries to move his position slightly, feeling his arm start to tingle. As he does, there’s no resistance from Derek this time. The boy frowns to himself but shuffles his body, managing to twist around enough to look a Derek. The man’s eyes were on him completely, not paying the movie any mind now. 

It’s enough to make Stiles freeze, no longer wiggling like a worm as he tries to get himself comfy. The way Derek is looking at him can only be described with one word. Predatory. Like a wolf eyeing up its prey, ready for the hunt. Stiles swallows the growing lump in his throat, keeping his eyes on Derek as he starts to inch his way towards the opposite end of the couch, stretching his legs out towards Derek as he does. 

“My legs are cramped,” he gives as a lame excuse, Derek simply humming in response. 

Stiles’ bare feet end up in Derek's lap and the man’s gaze turns back to the tv, though not before his hand comes to rest on the boy’s ankle. It doesn’t just simply sit there however. The fingers curl around his ankle and slip just under the hem of the sweatpants, skin on skin contact. Stiles’ heart beats a little faster. 

The boy decides to keep his eyes locked on to Derek for the rest of the movie. Derek, meanwhile, continues to watch the screen. Even as the credits roll. It’s not until the screen goes black and an ad break comes on that Derek leans forward, still not letting go of Stiles’ ankle to pick up the remote. He switches the tv off, after it has been on all day, and places the remote back down. And then he turns his attention to Stiles. It was nearly 7.30pm.

“We’ve still got some time before bed, Stiles,” Derek whispers, keeping his voice quieter now that the hour was later. “I think it’s time that I show you how things are going to go from here on out.”

Stiles instantly panics. He watches as Derek slowly brings himself to his knees on the couch, starting to lean over the boy. Stiles grabs at the sofa fabric behind himself, attempting to use whatever strength he has to push himself further away from the man. It hurts his arms to twist them so awkwardly to get any sort of purchase on the sofa, grunting and gasping as he adds his legs to the plan. He kicks at the couch, avoiding Derek, trying to push and get leverage. He manages to get just enough to shove his shoulders and head over the arm of the sofa when he feels a hand on his calf. 

Derek’s strength is clear as he yanks Stiles back on to the couch, the boy's head dropping on to the cushions fully and his arms are trapped beneath him. His breathing is fast, tears pricking at his eyes as Derek wedges his knees between his legs to keep them spread. Derek grabs his own shirt and pulls it off, not caring where it lands as he throws it aside. There’s a primal hunger in his eyes as he stares down at the trembling form of Stiles beneath him, pinned with nothing more than a gaze. 

“D-Derek..don’t..don’t fucking do this...please!” Stiles begs, raising his voice with his last word. 

Derek brings his fingers slowly to Stiles’ mouth, tilting his head as he watches the boy. 

“Now, Stiles. Just be quiet, okay? If not, I’ll have to end up gagging up and you don’t want that. Do you?” 

The tone of the man’s voice dripped with a venom that Stiles hadn’t heard before. When Derek had told him off for kicking, it was different. It was more angry and frustrated. When he’d first been picked up by Derek, the tone was flirtatious. But this was just plain threatening. 

Stiles gulps as Derek waits for him to respond, seemingly pleased when the boy stays quiet for now. His eyes cast over the teenager’s body, hands moving slowly to hook under the hem of the Halo t-shirt. Derek drags the fabric up over the skin, getting it off Stiles for the most part, though due to the ropes the sleeves are stuck. He leaves the bundle of fabric Stiles’ head, his focus then coming to the smooth chest. 

The pale skin is dotted with freckles and moles, the man tracing each one as if mapping out constellations in the stars. Each tiny touch had Stiles whimpering with fear, body twitching under the warm hands of the man. He didn’t want this. He really didn’t fucking want this. 

After mere minutes of teasing from his captor, Stiles lets a sob break through. It comes alone at first, just the one having broken through his resolve, but then more follow. They crash through the barrier he’d put up, making his whole body shake with them as Derek simply stares at him. Fat tears slid down Stiles’ cheeks, his mind filling in the blanks on what is about to happen to him. Derek is gonna fuck him. 

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Derek whispers, dragging even more cries from the boy. 

It was humiliating to be trapped on the couch with this fucking predator leering over him, touching all over his chest and tell him he was pretty. Stiles suddenly shuts his eyes tight, trying to block it all out. He imagines he's at home instead, laying in his bed with some boy he’s met at a party. Maybe if he just imagines Derek as someone else, then he could get through this? Because it’s clear Derek wasn’t taking no for an answer. 

Stiles’ breath hitches and his cries come to a slow down as he feels fingers hooking into his sweatpants. The pants are tugged down his thighs, keeping his eyes shut through the entire process. He refuses to give Derek the satisfaction of looking at him, of acknowledging who was doing this to him. His legs are maneuvered to get rid of the sweatpants and Derek wastes not a single second in removing the boxers as well, leaving Stiles naked. 

The cool air of the room pricks at Stiles’ skin, causing goosebumps to rise on his thighs. Derek’s large hands smooth up the flesh of his legs, admiring every tiny mark and scar that adorned the boy’s body. He wasn’t perfect, in fact Stiles was far from the perfection Derek was so used to looking for. And yet, he loved Stiles more than any others he’d picked up off of the roads. 

“Derek...please…”Stiles tries to beg one last time, gasping and then biting down harshly on his lip when he feels a hand wrap around his length. 

“Stiles...I don’t want to have to gag you. I really don’t. So just...be quiet for me. Please,” Derek speaks softly.

The boy feels bile rising up in his throat as the hand on his shaft begins to move. Stiles wants absolutely no part in this, just preferring if Derek fucked him and that was it. But the man seems to have other ideas, a treacherous spark starting to flicker within the boy. 

It’s just his body’s natural reaction to stimulation, he tries to tell himself. He was a teenage boy at the height of his puberty, his dick is bound to get excited over any attention. Though, Stiles does attempt to think of dead puppies or kitties, or the numerous bodies he’d stumbled across when crashing one of his dad’s crime scenes. However, the thought of dead things reminds him of Derek, never letting him forget who was touching him. 

“God, you’re so fucking pretty,” Derek breaths out, his voice rough and sounding like he was holding himself back. He probably doesn’t want to scare Stiles too much, as if he could claw his way back from violating Stiles like this. 

The touch slowly leaves Stiles and he gasps in air, not realising that he had been holding his breath. He’s not paid much mind as Derek starts to work at his belt. The man unbuckles it and then curses under his breath, Stiles cracking open his eyes as his mind works as fast as it can. To get his pants off, Derek would need to stand up and get off Stiles, leaving the boy free. He had to act fast. 

As soon as Derek is on his feet, hands fumbling with denim and getting himself somewhat tangled as he tries to undress himself, Stiles takes his chance. He anchors his feet in the couch and grunts as he shoves as hard as he into the back of the couch. It throws him to the floor and he reaches his arms out behind himself as much as he can to catch himself, his legs knocking into Derek and sending the man into a heap on the floor. 

“Shit!” Derek yells, Stiles scrambling to get his feet under himself. 

Another push gets his shoulder on to the coffee table, knocking into the duffel bag as he goes. The rush of his blood is all he can hear in his ears, eyes wide and heaving in air as he finally gets his legs somewhat stable and Stiles manages to stand. All humiliation leaves him as he runs for the door, throwing himself into it to make as much noise as he can. 

“Hep! Fucking help! I’ve been fucking kid-” 

His voice is cut off when Derek's hand slams over his mouth, the boy sensing the pure anger radiating from the man behind him. Stiles kicks and struggles in the hold, Derek's other arm suddenly coming round and grabbing at Stiles’ balls. Stiles freezes instantly with a cry of pain, more tears welling in his eyes. He was close...so close. And yet so fucking far. 

Stiles breaks down into sobs in Derek's arms, body going limp and Derek's hand is quick to move from his crotch to his waist. The arm hooks around him, holding more firm than before. The boy begins to struggle weakly as Derek drags him backwards, away from the door and back towards the couch. Though it seems his fight is pointless, Derek's strength being more than his, even without the disadvantage of his bound arms. 

Derek is gentle as he lays Stiles on the couch again, on his front this time. His cheek is pressed into the pillows, vision blurry as he stares at the wall. His outburst and attempt at escape hasn’t deterred the man from his goal, Stiles whimpering as he feels warm fingers touching his bare ass. His cheeks are spread and his body jolts when a finger traces around his rim, breath catching in his throat. 

“Are you going to say quiet for me this time, Stiles?” Derek asks, voice dark. 

The boy can’t see the man, can't predict what he’s going to do and there’s no warning given before spit lands on his hole. A threatening touch ghosts near his balls again and Stiles gasps, quickly nodding his head. 

“Yes...yes, I’ll be quiet,” he croaks out, voice so broken he can barely recognise it’s his own. 

Derek gives a satisfied hum and that's all Stiles gets before a finger starts to push its way into his body. All his muscles tense up, teeth grit and eyes shut as the digit forces its way inside. There’s absolutely no way Derek's dick would fit in him. His body is already rejecting simply a finger, he’d tear in two if Derek tried to fuck him. 

He’s bearing through the burn as the finger tries to retract from him before pushing in again when he hears Derek spitting a second time. Though, this time around, Stiles doesn’t feel any land on him. He tries to wonder what the hell Derek is doing when a deep sigh echoes through the air. It’s joined by an almost growl, the boy wincing as the finger shoves in a little too sudden. 

“That's it...gonna get you nice and stretched for me…” Derek breaths out, admiring the sight of the hole stretched red around his finger. 

His other hand is wrapped around his cock, jerking it off as he marvels at the sight beneath him. He’s so goddamn lucky to have this beauty stumble upon him in the dark, to be naive enough to get into his car. Stiles had walked right into the wolf’s den and now he finally knew what his time with Derek would consist of. 

Grunts and groans fill the air behind Stiles, the boy refusing to open his eyes. He feels disgusted...violated...Derek had built enough trust in him for Stiles to feel comforted by him when someone else was present. And now here he was, his finger in Stiles’ ass and destroying any liking the boy had for him. 

It feels like an eternity as his torture continues, Stiles occasionally feeling Derek add more spit to his hole if the friction was becoming too rough. Judging by how sloppy the man’s hand was getting however, Stiles knew it would be over soon. The moans coming from Derek were almost pornstar level, Stiles flushing red as his mind creates an image of how Derek must look. Fully nude and straddling his legs. Stiles quickly rids the image from his mind before he can be sick. 

“So...so pretty, Stiles...so pretty for me,” Derek whispers softly to him. 

And then Stiles feels something else. The finger had slipped away, something bigger being pressed to his rim. He whines in pain as Derek fits just his tip into the boy, forcing his way inside, and the tightness around him is enough to send him barreling over the edge already. A groan rips out of his throat and he throws his head back, jacking his shaft as he releases into Stiles.

Stiles can do nothing but lay there and cry softly as he feels the cum spill into him, his thighs shaking and the ache in his arms hitting him hard. Derek takes his time to make sure he’s emptied into the boy before pulling out, making Stiles hiss. With big gentle hands, Derek turns Stiles on to his back and gives him a tired but loving smile. 

“My pretty boy.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've made it this far into the story, I don't think there's anything to warn for this chapter. You read the last one. It's just the aftermath of that. Enjoy, you dirty little sinners
> 
> Eve x

Stiles feels everything. Everything. The burns of the ropes keeping his arms bound behind his back. The pain in his ass from Derek forcing his way inside, and the disgusting cum oozing from him now. He can even feel his tears drying on his cheeks after sobbing for the entire experience. It's far from humiliating. Derek hadn’t just stepped over the line. He’d watched as Stiles drew that line and then he fucking sprinted over it. 

“You shut your fucking mouth,” Stiles grits out, his sadness, fear, and embarrassment all swiftly replaced by anger. “Fucking pedophile rapist.”

Derek doesn’t seem to pay any mind to his words, slowly pushing himself to his feet to collect the items of clothes that had become strewn around the room during the event. Stiles stays on the couch, grunting as he tries to work the aches and pains from his muscles. He knows his shoulder is going to form a bruise from where he’d slammed himself into the door, huffing as he realises how pointless the pain now was. Even after everything that had happened, after his yelling and shouting, no one had come to help him. Just where exactly were they?

Stiles gasps as he’s suddenly lifted into the air, thrown over Derek's shoulder as the man heads across the room. His heart is in his throat, panicking at the sudden movement and touch that he, again, isn't warned about. The tv grows further away as Derek carries him, Stiles managing to figure out what was happening when he notices the bright light of the bathroom. He’s carefully placed down on his feet so that Derek can lock them in again, their clothes dropped into a pile on the floor. 

“Can I have these ropes off?” Stiles dares to ask and Derek pauses in his actions of opening a drawer, turning his eyes to the boy. 

“Can you ask me nicely?'' Derek speaks, his voice quiet...calm again. 

Stiles lets out a small sigh, not exactly in any sort of mood to play nice with the man that had just fucked him. 

“Can you please take these ropes off my arms, Derek? They’re hurting,'' Stiles says in a far too sweet voice with an extremely forced smile. 

If Derek notices how fake his tone and expression is, he doesn’t bring it up. Instead, he puts up a finger and motions for Stiles to turn around which the teen does. Rough hands work at the ropes and each knot is untied, relieving some pain whilst making new pain bloom. Stiles hisses as his arms are released from the restraints, muscles screaming in agony of being made to move to a new position. He stretches his arms in front of himself and then above his head, wincing and doing his best to stretch them out as Derek bumbles around the bathroom. 

Stiles doesn't really care to pay too much attention as Derek turns on the shower above the bathtub, cracking his neck and taking this quiet moment to reevaluate his situation. As far as he was aware, Derek had access to a phone. Peter had told his nephew to call him so either Derek had a mobile or they’d have to come across a phone at some point. Plus Stiles still didn’t exactly know where they were. He knew they were in beacon hills, or around it at least. But he’d been kept in this one room and he had no clue where this room was. A motel? Apartment? It felt like a lot of planning had happened on Derek's part for there to be a fully stocked place to stay despite the fact it seemed he moved around often. 

“Stiles. Shower.”

The simple command catches the teenagers attention and his head snaps to look at Derek, still both nude and the man pointing at the running water. There’s steam already floating around the room and Stiles doesn’t hesitate in letting himself clamber into the shower and under the warm spray. It’s like heaven on his aching muscles, head leaning back as a moan of relief leaves his mouth. 

He’s glad as the water washes away the disgusting feeling that lingers on his body as Derek climbs into the shower with him. Stiles merely scoffs at Derek and keeps his back to him, hogging the water though Derek doesn’t seem to mind. There's a bottle of body wash, different from before, on the side of the bath along with shampoo and conditioner. Stiles grabs for the body wash and opens it, Derek just watching him quietly and leaning against the tiles.

The man seems content to leave the boy alone for the time being, hands not coming near Stiles at all. Though, it does nothing to ease the fear and anger that had settled inside of him. What Derek had said, about how he would show Stiles how things would go from here on out...it proved that what had happened wasn’t a one time deal. It was going to happen again and again, unless Stiles were to escape or be rescued. Any attempt at an escape now would be risky and Stiles knew it would be purely emotional. He had to remember to use his brain over his heart. 

He takes his sweet time washing his hair and body, scrubbing away every sin that was now burned into his skin. He swore to never forgive or forget what Derek had done to him. Stiles, once done with his showering, steps out of the bathtub without a word. He grabs for the towel and wraps it around his body, glancing towards Derek to notice the man stepping under the spray of water. Stiles smiles proudly to himself at the beginning of a bruise forming on Derek's thigh. That bastard deserved everything that came to him. 

Looking away from Derek, Stiles turns his attention to the mirror in the bathroom. He hadn't used it before so he stepped up to it to get a good look at himself. He doesn’t really look much different. His lower lip is split from his biting, eyes red from his crying. But other than that and some under eye bags, he looks pretty normal. In fact, he probably looks just how he does after a few too many late night assignments and crying over sad movies. 

His eyes drift to the toothbrush and toothpaste which had been unpackaged earlier that day. He swipes them both and turns the tap on, not missing how Derek hisses at the sudden flash of cold water from the shower. Stiles puts some toothpaste on the brush and sticks it under the water before starting to brush his teeth. He leaves the tap on, just to torture Derek some more. Once he's done, he spits into the sink and wipes his mouth with the towel, grabbing for the boxers dumped in the pile. 

“Sties, I’ll get you clean clothes in a minute,” Derek says from under the shower, frowning softly at the boy. 

Stiles glaces over to him as he just pulls the boxers up his legs, face twisting with distaste. 

“Well, until you do, I’m gonna wear these.”

The man sighs, seeming slightly exasperated with Stiles’ attitude now though just continuing to shower. It doesn't take too long for him to finish up, Stiles just standing to the side as he does. And then Stiles has to wait some more after relinquishing the towel to Derek and sitting through the man brushing his teeth. 

Derek grabs for the pile of clothes and takes the key from his jeans, unlocking the bathroom and Stiles is instantly shoving his way past Derek to step into the open room. The boy moves towards the bed and looks to the clock. Nearly 9pm. Stiles wouldn’t usually consider himself one to prefer an early bedtime, but with the tiring events of the day so far, he was rather looking forward to crawling into bed. Though before he could reach for the sheets, Derek's hand was snatching his wrist. 

Stiles turns his attention to Derek, almost glaring at the man for touching him after what he did. Though Derek doesn't seem to want to let go, crouching himself down by that weird suitcase again to rummage through the clothing whilst keeping hold of Stiles. He pulls out a fresh pair of boxers, these ones looking like they might actually fit Stiles, and then another tshirt. Plain grey this time. 

Derek hands the clothes to Stiles, who takes them rather swiftly from his hand, before letting go of the boy to move himself to a dresser. It was situated by the bathroom door, the wall opposite the window and front door. As Stiles tugs the dirty boxers off and swaps them for the hopefully clean pair, Derek fishes some pyjamas from his stash of clothes. 

The pants are a red tartan, loose fitting though enough to keep him warm. And those are accompanied by a long sleeved black t-shirt, tugged over his muscular form as Stiles yanks his own shirt over his lithe torso. Derek then makes his rounds of the larger room, turning off most of the lights but not yet touching the small one above the double bed. And as Derek peels back the sheets to side Stiles did not wake up on, it hits the teen. They were sharing the bed. 

Stiles, reluctantly, moves round to the other side and pulls back his side of the sheets, pausing as Derek hesitates. The man seems to be thinking, eyes driving from the sheets to Stiles as he slowly licks his lower lip. 

“Rope or handcuffs?” Derek suddenly presents to Stiles and it almost throws the teen off guard. 

Stiles blinks with a small recoil, not really expecting that to be the words though he’s also not too surprised. It would be his first conscious night with Derek, of course we wouldn’t be restrained. He looks down at his sore wrists, taking in a deep breath. 

“Hand cuffs.”

Derek nods at the decision and retreats from the bed to that dreaded duffel bag, Stiles reminding himself to try and get rid of the damn thing whenever he could. He digs around inside for a moment before pulling out the metal handcuffs, fishing out a tiny set of keys from the bag to match. 

He approaches Stiles, who holds his hands out without prompting and lets the metal be closed around his wrists. Derek does it slowly, running his fingers along the metal and making sure it wasn’t cutting into Stiles’ skin. Stiles almost wants to scoff at the action, Derek acting like he actually cared about Stiles’ as if he hadn’t raped him just before. Fucking psycho. 

Once satisfied, Derek heads around the bed and Stiles squints as he notices Derek fiddling to put a chain around his neck. Though it’s swiftly tucked into the t-shirt, Stiles just knows that the keys are on it. Because Derek’s not stupid enough to leave the keys laying around. Stiles sighs as he crawls on to the bed and flops down onto his back, taking one last look at Derek as the man joins him. 

God it was ridiculous how fucking peaceful this whole thing was. Here Stiles was, laying in bed next to his kidnapper and rapist, letting himself be handcuffed and doing absolutely nothing about it. He wants to be angry at himself, to boil over with rage and just lash out, kick Derek square in the face. But he calms himself, telling himself that he has to play the long game. Keep himself safe and do as much as he can to lure someone to his rescue. He wasn’t a trained police officer or fucking batman. He was just a kid, after all.

When Derek's gaze turns towards him, Stiles makes a point of flipping onto his side to put his back to Derek. He doesn’t miss the sigh that leaves the man, hearing the rustle of the sheets as Derek lays himself down. Stiles can sense the warmth of the man coming closer, a large hand moving under the sheets to rest on his hip, making the boy’s leg twitch. 

“C’mon, Stiles...I was gentle...I went slow...hell, I only put the tip in, You can’t stay mad at me,” Derek whispers. 

Stiles feels his hot breath ghost along the back of his neck and his whole body tenses up, shoulders rising to try and block the man out. 

“I want the light off, Derek.”

There's no response for a moment, the breath still heating his skin and the hand still on his hip. But slowly, Derek slips away from him and huffs as he reaches for the light switch, clicking it and plugging the room around them into darkness.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovelies. Chapters will take longer from here on out as I'm not 100% sure where to take these boys next. And I'd rather not create just filler chapters. So, i you have any ideas or suggestions then feel free to comment <3
> 
> Eve
> 
> Warnings: nudity, handcuffs, ball gag, and water punishment? (I don't know the word for it just Derek using a shower in Stiles' face)

It’s no surprise that Stiles struggles to sleep more than an hour straight during the night. Anytime he can feel himself drifting off, his eyes heavy from exhaustion, Derek moves behind him and it jolts his mind awake. Any shift that the man made would have Stiles’ mind flashing with the memories of everything done to him. The pure horror of it all was enough to snap his eyes open, staring blankly at the wall in front of him. Was this his fate now? Trapped in this never ending cycle of pain and praise from Derek? Stiles can feel tears prickling at his eyes and he squeezes them shut, trying to force some semblance of sleep upon himself. 

Stiles is awake before the sun peeks through the curtains, smart enough by now to roll himself over in the bed to make sure the upcoming ray cast upon the back of his head, rather than his face. Like this he’s facing Derek, watching the man sleeping. He looks peaceful, his stern face softened out in his unconscious state. A part of Stiles thinks about wrapping his hands around the man’s throat right now, and choking him until he’s limp in the bed. Though he feels too tired to commit the act, sighing softly as he lays on his back. 

The ceiling is rough above him, some gross stain creeping across from the corner and Stiles pulls a face at it. Derek could’ve at least found a place that had higher standards. The boy huffs and it takes a couple tries but he manages to sit himself up, glancing around this room. He can feel how mused his hair is, can sense bags darkening under his eyes. But most important, he needed to fucking pee. He’s not currently connected to the bed, just his hands bound in front of him by the metal handcuffs (he doesn’t even want to starting thinking about how similar they are to his dad’s and why on earth Derek has them), so shoving the sheets away and standing up is a rather easy task. 

His muscles groan in protest and Stiles winces, his behind horribly sore after last night. He prays that Derek had some slither of human decency in him and would allow Stiles to heal fully before trying to use him again, though the thought of Stiles letting Derek use him a second time makes the boy grimace. He trudges towards the bathroom, the room somewhat dark still thanks to the early hour, and he inches the bathroom door open. Stepping inside, he shuts the door as quietly as he can, however hesitates when reaching for the simple slide lock. If Derek were to wake up, see Stiles missing, and found out he’d locked himself in the bathroom, he might get mad. And well, as Stiles learnt yesterday, a pissed off Derek is not a good one. So, he sighs to himself and leaves the door unlocked. Derek had already seen more of Stiles than the teenager had, so what was the point? 

He stands by the toilet after flicking on the lights, tugging down the boxers and then aiming himself at the bowl. A small relieved breath escapes him as he lets his bladder go, tilting his head back and letting himself think. He doubts that they’d move today, and he wasn’t yet sure if Derek had plans that didn’t involve Stiles. So, any time that he did get with Derek, Stiles knew he’d have to do his best to drag any information out of him. The more he had, the better his chances would be. 

Stiles soon tucks himself back into his boxers and flushes the toilet, moving to the sink to wash his hands. A plain bar of soap is situated by the sink, the boy grabbing it and elbowing the tap to turn it on. The water runs over his hands as he lathers the soap and then puts it aside, scrubbing his hands together and washing the soap away. He thinks about how today is Saturday, meaning that he’d missed an entire day of school yesterday. Most kids would be rejoicing but Stiles needed that good attendance...his grades were slacking just a little bit and his dad was already on his back about- 

Stiles pauses in his train of thought. Here he was, worrying about his dad being mad that he’d skipped a day of school when the whole reason he wasn't at school was because he was kidnapped. Fucking kidnapped. He quickly shuts off the water with more force than he wanted, wincing at the noise it made and trying to shake off the bad feeling. 

“Focus, Stiles...focus,” he whispers to himself and inches towards the bathroom door. 

His hand closes around the handle and pulls it open, peering out into the dark room. Derek was still laying in the bed, his back to this bathroom door as Stiles crept out. He notices how the man shifts slightly, doing his best to stay silent as he sneaks back towards his side of the bed. Though, before he could even reach the foot of the bed, Derek turns over. He’s looking at Stiles through the dim light, tired eyes and a...smile? The boy freezes and Derek lets out a quiet chuckle, using his elbows to prop himself up in the bed. 

“There you are...I wondered where you’d got to,” Derek mutters and pats the bedsheets on his side of the bed, peeling them back a little. 

He’s inviting Stiles to join him, closer this time. Away from his own side of the bed and instead into Derek's personal space. And judging by the almost stony gaze Derek was sending his way, it didn’t seem up for debate. Stiles slowly steps towards the bed and as soon as he’s within arm’s reach, Derek's hand takes hold of his wrist and is tugging him close. He stumbles a little as he practically dragged into Derek's lap, his back pressed to the man’s chest, and Stiles feels horrendously uncomfortable. 

He tries to wriggle and squirm, to get himself away from touching Derek so closely, but an arm wraps around his waist like an anchor and Stiles is stuck. His breathing picks up slightly when he feels Derek's rough stubble grazing along the back of his neck, his nose poking at the back of his head. Stiles can sense the smile Derek had on his face. Content. As if the kidnapped teenager in his lap was just his lover and not a traumatised kid. 

“What the fuck is your problem?” Stiles spits, the words being a shock to even himself. 

He can feel how Derek tenses up slightly, offended perhaps? There’s a small recoil, Stiles thankful that his stupid nose isn’t rubbing in his hair anymore, and then Derek lets out a deep breath against his neck. 

“I don’t like your tone, Stiles,” he warns softly. 

Stiles rolls his eyes at that. 

“Yeah? Well, I don't like being kidnapped, kept tied up, and fucking raped, Derek. So, I guess we’re on a level playing field.”

He punctuates his sentence with a sharp elbow back into Derek's stomach, grinning as he hears the pained noise the man makes. Good. He fucking deserves it. It falls a little quiet between them for a moment, though the arm around his waist does somewhat tighten. 

“I wasn’t planning on another punishment so soon,” Derek mumbles, his words ghosting by Stiles’ ear. “ Though, you’ve pushed me. With your...disgusting language. I don’t mind your attitude, Stiles. In fact, it’s rather charming. But my patience has limits.”

As he speaks, Derek suddenly stands and Stiles is thrown over his shoulder. It reminds him too closely of the previous night, bile rising in Stiles’ throat as he claws at the man’s back. He kicks and thrashes, biting down on his lip as tears threaten his eyes. 

“No! Don’t...don't fucking kill me!” Stiles screams

The words make Derek hesitate for just a second before he continues to the bathroom, yanking the door open and unceremoniously dropping Stiles into the bathtub. As soon as Derek turns and exits the bathroom, Stiles is scrambling to his feet and bolting for the front door. His cuffed hands hammer on the wood, tears streaming down his face when an arm wraps around his stomach. 

“Let me go! Let me fucking go you fucking murderer!” 

Stiles kicks and yells as he is dragged back to the bathroom, Derek wrestling him into the tub yet again and then choosing to hold him down. His face in one of fury. One hand holds Stiles by the cuffs, whilst the other holds down his stomach. Though, once he glances to the one holding him down, Stiles sees a gag in Derek's grasp. The sight of it reignites his fear once more and he tries to kick his leg at the man. 

They wrestle back and forth, Derek just trying to pin Stiles down as Stiles does his best to fight to grasp. He scratches, claws, kicks, even bites the man’s arm. Blood drips steadily down Derek's arm as he finally wraps the leather ball gag around the kid's face, Stiles panting as he tries to breath with the rising panic and the ball gag in his mouth. 

Derek finally lets go of him when the gag is buckled tight, his own chest heaving from the effort of wrangling the surprisingly slippery teenager. They simply look at each other for a small while as they catch their breaths, the silence creeping through the air. 

“Clearly, you’re not stupid, Stiles. So why don’t you just be smart and listen,” Derek sighs. 

His hand grabs for the shower head and turns on the tap, Stiles flinching when cold water runs into the bathtub. Though the head is held towards the end of the tub, away from him. 

“You’re correct about me being a...murderer,” Derek mumbles, though shudders as he says the word. “My uncle and I found it to be the best way to deal with everything that happened to our family.”

Stiles stares up at the man, eyes wide. He ties to speak, attempts garbled nonsense around the gag. But as soon as he makes any sort of noise, the shower head is held right over his face. He sputters and coughs, the ice cold water freezing his face and making his eyes blink furiously. Once it’s pulled away, Stiles gets the idea pretty quickly and shuts up. 

“At first, it was just out of anger,” he explains softly. “I felt mad...so mad. That someone I thought loved me could just burn down the house with my entire family inside.”

A small chuckle leaves him. 

“I was so stupid and young. And it was all my fault that they died. Because the thing about killers and psychos, Stiles, is that they could be around you at any moment...and you’d have no idea.”

Derek has to take a second to rub at his eyes, still tired from having woken up not long ago and the intensity of the topic. Stiles could tell that talking about the subject was tough on Derek, but the sooner they got it out of the way, the better. Stiles wasn’t stupid, after all. 

“And so, I found lonely people...people trying to get away. Hitch hikers. The type that you'd forget by the next day. I’d pull up on the side of the road, ask them where they were heading and tell them I was going the same way. I’d find somewhere quiet like a motel...a forest...sometimes I'd just park on the side of the road. And then we’d fuck, usually. Just so I could try to feel something….anything.”

The water in the bottom of the tub from the running shower is soaking into his boxers and t-shirt, turning his skin icy cold and making him shiver beneath the man. Not man...No. Derek wasn’t a human being. He was a beast. An absolute animal. 

“I wanted to feel love. I wanted that love at first sight I felt when I saw that fucking killer bitch. Back when I was foolish enough to fall for her pretty face and sweet smile. But no...I never did. So I'd kill them, chop them up into little pieces, and spread them across the country with my uncle's help. But...but then I saw you, Stiles.”

Derek stares down at the boy with sparkling eyes, so full of admiration and hope like it could’ve tricked Stiles for almost a second. 

“You..I knew it was meant to be you as soon as I saw you. I need you to fix me, Stiles. I’m not going to kill you. Nor can I let you leave me..”

After he’s done speaking, it’s almost like there's a breakthrough in the wall of anger Derek had built up. As it slowly crumbles, he’s finally noticing how much Stiles is shivering in the bathtub and his hands race to switch off the water. He drops the showerhead into the tub and scoops Stiles into his arms, holding him as close to his chest as he can to transfer some of his body heat to him. 

Stiles feels frozen. Both in temperature and emotions. Derek had just slipped his entire life story and killing MO to him, all whilst in some sort of blind fury. Judging by his current panic, he mustn’t have realised how his punishment was affecting Stiles, and Stiles is only tolerating their closeness because he feels like he might die of hypothermia otherwise. 

The bathroom is abandoned as Derek carries him back to the bed, yanking the sheets off and sitting Stiles down on it. He begins to peel the soaking wet cloths off of the boy, Stiles giving no protest and just quietly crying. He’s trapped, with his hands cuffed, mouth gagged, and Derek constantly hovering over him, claiming he loved him after knowing him for a little over 24 hours. This man was fucking insane. 

The t-shirt catches on the cuffs around his wrists and Derek tears at the fabric to remove it, the boxers slipping off with ease. And then he’s gently wrapping the duvet around Stiles, patting his shoulders but then putting a small distance between them. 

“I’ll put those cartoons you like on, yeah?” Derek asks, though doesn’t press for an answer this time. 

He seems shaken by what had happened, Stiles watching as he stumbles towards the tv. The remote is grabbed and he flicks through the channels before finding the same one as yesterday, smiling when colourful animation appears on the screen. He leaves the remote on the coffee table, next to that dreaded duffel bag, and begins to gravitate towards the kitchen when he remembers Stiles and pauses.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still having a little trouble getting into the headspace for writing this so, please don't be too disappointed if it's a small while until the next chapter appears. Had a lot of personal stuff happen all at once and I'm handling it as best I can. thank you for all the lovely comments so far, it really does mean a lot and shows that you guys do want more of this :)
> 
> Eve 
> 
> Warnings: nudity, slapping

Stiles is stunned. It’s the only word he can really bring to his mind at the moment to describe how he felt about whatever the hell just happened. With Derek just straight up admitting he was fucking batshit crazy and that he didn’t plan to kill Stiles, because he wanted to keep him all to himself. Brilliant. Just brilliant. Of course it’s Stiles who ends up with an obsessive murderous kidnapper. It was just his fucking luck, wasn’t it?

His eyes are glued to the tv screen ahead of him, jaw aching uncomfortable with how the gag was stretching his mouth open. He’d certainly never used anything like this before in the bedroom and, for some ridiculous reason, this felt like the worst punishment of them all. He could handle being hit and slapped and all that jazz, but to stop him from talking? To force him into silence? The mere thought of his current situation brings tears to his eyes again, trying his best to not let them roll down his cheeks. However, it’s useless. His dam is, for now, broken and the tears flow freely. 

His eyes cast a wary glance towards the kitchen, Stiles not exactly in the mood for any of Derek's comforting or fussing. The man is ignoring him, thankfully, far too focused on making the pancakes he promised and Stiles is left alone to wallow in his self pity. The sheets wrapped around his shoulders isn’t enough to warm him up and Stiles can still feel the occasional shiver rack through his body still. 

Why did Derek just leave him here freezing cold? What sort of irresponsible prick was he? Stiles bites down on the ball in his mouth as his mind drifts to the warmth he felt when huddled close to Derek's chest, suddenly pinching himself with sharp nails to snap him out of that. He could not start thinking of Derek as any form of comfort or safety. Derek was a rapist, kidnapper, and killer. And Stiles knew that Stockholm syndrome would be a terrible slippery slope he did not want to start heading down. 

Giving his head a quick shake to rid himself of those thoughts, Stiles glances towards the kitchen again. His brows furrow for a moment as he sees Derek already plating the pancakes for them both. Either Derek was a fast chef or Stiles had zoned out for some time, the boy couldn’t exactly tell. His mind was starting to play tricks on him, slowly decreasing his sanity. And it had only been one day. 

“Here we go. Fresh pancakes,” Derek grins as he carries the plates over, placing them both on the bedside for a moment as he nears Stiles. “Though I’m afraid I didn’t have any syrup. Not that you’ll need it. You’re already sweet enough.”

That disturbingly kind smile was back on Derek's face, the man acting as if nothing had happened between them. As if Stiles wasn’t sitting there handcuffed, naked and gagged. But his hands retrieve the chain from around his neck and the cuffs are released, Stiles groaning in relief. Though he doesn't hesitate to grab at the gag wrapped around his head, furiously trying to work at the buckle.

“Hey...hey slow down...you’ll hurt yourself, Stiles,” Derek chides softly, hands grabbing rather unforgivingly at Stiles’ and practically throwing them back into his lap.

He takes it upon himself to unbuckle the gag for the boy and carefully extract it from his mouth, smiling as he does so. The gag is placed aside and then Derek's fingers come to gently massage Stiles’ jaw, one hand holding the back of his neck so he couldn’t retreat from it. The touches to his face, with Derek being so uncomfortably close to him, and with how nonchalant he was being about the whole scenario...it was all grating on Stiles. The teenager could feel his eye twitching and hands shaking as Derek worked at his jaw, pressing into his cheeks and sending that stupid love sick smile his way. 

Stiles’ hand suddenly slaps Derek across the face. It’s forceful and filled with anger, the back of the hand having connected with the cheek so hard that the noise echoed through the room. Derek’s head had snapped to the side, eyes shut as soon as the impact hit him. Stiles’ hand stays in the air, frozen, only having realised what he had done after the fact. 

Silence settles in the air after the noise of the slap stops ringing. There’s tears building in Stiles’ eyes, though Derek's own eyes are shut. He says nothing as his hand slowly rises to his cheek and rubs gently at the tender flesh. Stiles is fucked. He tries to scramble backwards on the bed but there’s a hand grabbing at his wrist and stopping him from getting too far. 

Cautiously, he brings his gaze up to meet Derek's face and the expression he’s met with is not one he expects. He’s waiting for those furrowed brows and deadly eyes, waiting for Derek to warn him of the punishment coming his way. But instead, Derek is...smiling? Stiles pulls a face of confusion as Derek's other hand curls around his waist and tugs the boy close, sitting himself on the bed and slipping Stiles into his lap. 

“Here we go.. Let's get these pancakes in your tummy, silly boy. I bet you’re starving,” Derek hums as if nothing had ever happened.

Which Stiles finds...odd. When he had kicked Derek the previous day, he'd been punished for his actions. And he doubted that kicking the man’s thigh with no coordination hurt more than a backhand straight to the face. But to go from dishing out punishments to just brushing it off like it never happened made Stiles worry. Unpredictability was the worst thing he could deal with. If Derek had patterns then Stiles could at least use that to his advantage. But not anymore. 

He’s anchored in the man’s lap, staring off into space as his mind runs with thoughts, when he feels something nudging his lips. Eyes blink and he focuses back to reality, looking down to see a forkful of pancake prodding at his mouth. 

“C’mon...before they get cold,” Derek prompts.

Stiles opens his mouth and accepts the food, hating the feeling of Derek's nose nuzzling into the back of his hair as the kid plays along. It feels domestic and that disgusts Stiles. He knows he shouldn’t be sitting here and playing happy families with a clearly unstable man. Though, at the current moment, there’s not too much else he can do. He needed the food to survive and if the only way to get it was to sit in Derek’s lap then he was just going to have to swallow his pride for the moment and do it. 

He manages to get through about two of the pancakes before he begins to feel sick, pushing away Derek's hand when it nudges another bite to his lips. Derek gives a small sigh to the back of his neck but does place the plate aside, Stiles able to let out a breath of relief. 

“Do you want to get yourself dressed whilst I eat?” Derek offers the boy and Stiles practically lights up. 

Besides the shower and brushing his teeth, he hadn’t been given much freedom to do anything else. So the prospect of simply getting himself dressed felt amazing. He gives a fast nod and Derek grins, carefully pushing Stiles to stand and the boy does not miss how the hands brush across his bare ass. Fucking pervert. 

The teenager is quick to step enough away from the bed so Derek can no longer touch him, the man instead reaching out for his own plate of pancakes and then gesturing to the dresser with his fork. 

“My clothes are in there and you can borrow some until yours are clean or we can get you new ones, okay?”

Stiles nods again and steps over to the oak dresser, running his hands over the sleek wooden surface of it. There wasn’t anything on the top of it, though Stiles could see what looked like severed wires if he peered down the back of it. He can only assume they belong to a landline, most likely removed by Derek when he got Stiles here, unconscious, that first night. After a small breath, Stiles tugs open on the top smaller drawers. 

He’s faced with a bunch of underwear, all in plain colours. Not that he’s surprised. Derek was a grown man with a broody attitude, of course all he wore was black, grey, and navy. The boy rolls his eyes but grabs out a pair of the boxers, holding them up to himself and frowning softly. They’d fit. They’d be loose but they’d fit. Stiles places them on top of the dresser and slides the drawer shut, moving on to the one next to it, hearing Derek continue to watch and eat with the scrape of his fork on the plate.

This time it’s filled with bundles of socks and Stiles, again, blindly grabs a pair. Beneath that is t-shirts and Stiles cannot believe how many plain clothing items this man owns. Did Derek even know what a pattern or colour was? He tells himself to not linger on the matter for too long and just yanks anything out of the drawer, remembering that he is naked and Derek is staring at him. He’s best hurrying up and getting through this. 

Getting to the drawer filled with jeans, Stiles finds the smallest pair he can and then the dresser is closed. He wastes no time in yanking the boxers up his legs and covering everything private, making a point of glaring at Derek as he does. Who merely smiles at him with a mouthful of pancake. Psycho. Next comes the jeans and the shirt, Stiles pulling them all on and then adding the socks just to help himself warm up some more. He could still feel the ghost coldness of the water from the shower punishment against his back and just thinking about it was making him shiver. 

Once he is finally done, Derek scoops up both plates and the forks, heading to the kitchen without a word. Stiles, without much else to do, follows him. Derek hovers by the sink and gets the tap running, the teenager leaning in the doorway with a scowl. Stiles isn’t entirely sure what to say to his captor about the whole affair. He’s confused, pissed off, and overwhelmed. He could be at home right now, beating Scott at space rangers or studying for next week’s english exam with Lydia. But no. instead he's here, in some shitty ass hotel or apartment with some nutcase that apparently loves him. And he was fucking angry about it.

“Hey.”

Stiles’ voice breaks through the stillness in the air and the tone of it is enough to make Derek drop one of the forks back into the sink, reaching his hand into the water to search again for it as his eyes turn to Stiles.

“Yes?”

“Are we staying in this shithole?”

Stiles question is blunt and to the point, his facial expression showing that he isn’t messing around. This place is a dump and Stiles knows that by pulling a few heart strings Derek should move them to another place. That is, if he wanted Stiles to actually love him back or be happy at the very least. 

“Well, I was-”

“Because it’s gross and dirty and I would rather have somewhere else to stay. Do you want me to stay in some mould infected bedroom?” 

Stiles asks the question rather pointedly, raising a brow at Derek as if expecting an immediate answer. Putting pressure on the man. He can see as Derek scrambles in his own brain to find an answer that would please the feisty boy. 

“Tomorrow,” he says decidedly, “we’ll go tomorrow.”

Stiles nods and turns on his heel. With the freedom of no rope or cuffs, and the slight power trip he had felt forcing an answer out of Derek like that, he takes himself to the couch and drops himself on it. Grabbing up the remote he turns over the cartoons that were still playing, trying to find something else to watch as Derek finishes up with the dishes.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to every one for being patient. I know its been a very long wait for this new chapter and I hope its good enough to make up for it. I've been dealing with a lot of heavy stuff at home right now so my head hasn't been in an appropriate head space to write for a good while. This chapter took a lot to write and I do apologise for the long wait. I cannot promise that the next chapter will come sooner than this one, but thank you for your patience and support as we reached 10,000 hits!! This is officially my most read work so thank you and enjoy 
> 
> Eve x

Derek hadn’t expected wrangling a teenager to be so difficult. His eyes drift to follow Stiles as the boy leaves the kitchen and drops himself on to the couch, a deep sigh slipping from Derek's lips as he admires him for a brief moment. His cute pouty face, his hair that totally needed a good wash, and the way he slouched into the cushions. It was downright adorable. But Derek knew that he couldn’t let the boy’s cuteness blind him from the fact that he was smart and determined. Really fucking determined. 

He gives a shake of his head and turns his attention back to the dirty dishes, dipping his hands into the water to begin to clean the plates. With the decision being made that they were now moving tomorrow, Derek didn’t have much time left to plan. He’s thankful that there’s already another place set up for him, though the downside is that he’d planned to share it with Peter. That wouldn’t have been an issue before the addition of Stiles, but there isn’t anywhere else on such short notice. And god knows whatever sort of drama or mess that Peter was bound to drag along with him. As much as he didn’t mind his uncle, there was something so fucking annoying about him.

Derek places the dishes and cutlery on the side to dry, draining the sink and grabbing a towel to dry his hands as he leans against the counter. Transporting Stiles would be another problem. It was quite a drive away and having a missing child just sitting in his passenger seat would be rather suspicious anytime they stopped at a gas station. Though, Derek’s heart aches when he considers knocking him out again. Surely, the drive won’t be that long? And maybe he could get some music Stiles liked and one of those comics he mentioned the other day. Just something to keep his brain occupied before Derek could get his hands on medication for the kid. 

Distracted by thoughts of what he could grab today for the journey tomorrow, Derek only just notices that Stiles is standing in front of him. The somewhat arrogant and rather...pissed off look that Stiles had before was now gone, looking a little more sheepish. As if he was about to swallow his pride to speak to Derek. 

“Can I have a drink?”

The request is simple enough, however Derek continues to stare for just a minute longer. With every second that ticks by, he can see how Stiles grows more anxious and squirm before him. Derek decides that he likes watching Stiles squirm. It gave him a sick sense of control. Control that he’d allowed Stiles to rip away from him and he had to gain it back. 

“Go back to the couch and I’ll bring you a drink and a snack. You never finished your breakfast.”

The words almost stun the boy, Derek unsure what answer Stiles was expecting to elicit that response from him. But either way, Stiles glances to Derek's face and then, when realising the man wasn’t joking, trudges towards the couch. It allows Derek to breathe a quiet sigh of relief, feeling as if he was slowly regaining the grasp of control he’d lost that morning. 

He turns to the cupboards behind him and collects a plastic cup, a small thought in the back of his mind warning him to not give Stiles glass. The cup is placed under the tap for water to fill it as Derek has an idea and practically dives for a locked cupboard. He pauses briefly to calm his excitement and unlock the cupboard, smiling to himself as he takes out a decent sized chocolate bar from it. His plan could go one of two ways. One, Stiles could outright refuse to play along. It seemed like the most likely option, since Derek wouldn’t be offering much. And he wasn’t sure if forcing him would be the best idea with what had recently happened. Or two, Stiles would see that it wasn’t so bad and would take Derek up on his offer. 

With a small sigh, Derek locks the cupboard again and stands, grabbing for the cup of water and stepping into the living area. Stiles is curled up on the couch, staring at the show playing on the tv. It seemed to be some sitcom from what Derek could make out, pulling his attention away from the screen to focus on the boy. 

Derek takes a seat next to Stiles, placing the glass on a coaster on the coffee table and the chocolate on his arm of the sofa. Then he gains the boy's attention with the click of his fingers and his hand pats his lap, watching as Stiles’ brows furrow in confusion. 

“I’m not sitting in your lap,” Stiles huffs, distaste clear on his face as he looks the man up and down. 

Though Derek's blank face doesn’t waver, sighing softly to himself as he reminds himself he cannot let this little boy walk all over him. Derek held Stiles’ enjoyment and existence in the palm of his hand, and the boy needed to be reminded of that. So, in one swift movement, Derek hauls Stiles into his lap so that the brunette is straddling him, Stiles’ face a bright pink at the sudden movement. His attempts at wriggling to free himself are useless due to the thick arm hooked around his lower back and, in fact, only serve in pressing himself into Derek's crotch. 

“Derek, get off,” Stiles grits out, hands firmly planting themselves on the man's chest as he tries to shove himself off the lap. Though to no avail. To which he then switches tactic to start hitting Derek's chest. Pounding his fists off the pecs with a force that even Derek is slightly impressed by. However, the behaviour just wasn’t good enough. 

“Would you like some chocolate Stiles?”

The question is so...out of the blue, that it makes Stiles freeze in his attack and just stare at Derek, most likely wondering if he’d heard the man correctly.

“Wh..what?” Stiles mumbles, hands dropping from their assault.

Derek twists his free arm to manage to grab the chocolate bar and tease it in front of Stiles’ face, raising a brow. 

“I have some chocolate. Would you like some?”

The teenager placed in his lap stares dumbly at Derek for a good while, mind most likely processing the situation. Thinking about whether Derek had an ulterior motive or was literally just offering him chocolate was a very smart move on the boy’s behalf, and it reminded Derek exactly why he enjoyed Stiles. He isn’t stupid. Wouldn’t just roll over and accept his fate. He was a survivor, and a clever one at that. 

“Am I going to get punished if I say no?” Stiles asks with a look of uncertainty and Derek can't help the small smile across his lips. 

A very smart question to consider. 

“No. No, I won’t punish you if you say no. Though, I will ask that you not fight me if I touch you.”

Stiles frowns deeply at those words, eyes momentarily glancing down between them and then back to Derek's face. 

“Think of the chocolate as a reward for letting me touch you,” Derek prompts gently, watching as Stiles weighs up all his options still. It was taking time to convince him, though Derek was a patient man. 

“And if I fight?” Stiles hums, eyes focusing now on the chocolate bar. Letting Derek touch him would be humiliating, though Derek seemed pleasant enough to let Stiles barter with him. And how much harm could one orgasm do him?

“If you fight, I shall be forceful. And I’m sure you don’t want a repeat of that,” Derek reminds the boy softly and the hand on his lower back feels the shiver that runs down Stiles’ spine at the memory. 

Derek easily picks up on the exact moment Stiles’ mind gives in. 

“Fine. But dick only.”

Stiles grits his teeth and almost snatches the chocolate from Derek's hand, trying to ignore how his captor smiles camly and nods at the words. A simple enough request he could satisfy. 

Derek allows for the boy to zone out in his lap to the background noise of the tv as his hands begin to work on the zipper of Stiles’ jeans. It's easy to unzip though he does have to lift and maneuver Stiles somewhat to get the denim off his legs, Stiles showing his distaste with the rough handling with a quick hit to Derek's shoulder. 

“I’m not a doll,” he grumbles, though swiftly went quiet when the sting of a slap lands on his thigh. 

Derek places the jeans aside on the couch and turns his attention back to his little trophy, grinning at the sight of his boxers on Stiles. As pretty as it was, he’d have to get the boy some new clothes soon. Though, for now, Derek is content with cupping the length hidden away in the underwear, starting to gently palm him. It’s clear that Stiles is trying to ignore what’s happening, Derek only able to pick up on a few huffs through the boy's nose. His mouth is occupied with nibbling on the chocolate, Derek thinking to himself about how those lips would look pretty wrapped around his own cock. Not that that would happen anytime soon, though a man could dream. 

His eyes drift down to focus on the length he’s coaxing slowly to hardness, watching it fill the baggy underwear with intrigue. There wasn’t much difference between him and Stiles, certainly in height. Derek was a couple inches taller, though his build made up for it. Stiles’ was more scrawny, not needing the strength really. Though between their legs, there was a notable difference. And Derek can’t help but unzip his jeans to fish out his own cock, just to compare as he tugs Stiles’ boxers down under the dick he’s holding. 

His own is thicker, however he could put that down to him getting hard quicker than Stiles right now. Stiles’ is skinnier, shorter too, though he wouldn’t say the boy is small by any means. Where Derek is covered in dark hair, Stiles lacks with just a small sprinkling of light hairs. Even his happy trail was barely visible, Derek tracing his finger slowly down it with a hum. 

As he glances up to check on Stiles, he can see that he boy is staring off somewhere behind Derek's head. He knows there’s an ugly ass landscape painting above the bed, right in eyeshot, and he can only imagine that Stiles is sat scrutinising it as Derek continues his actions.

His larger hand is wrapped around Stiles’ shaft now, slowly dragging up and down the length and leaving his own alone for the time being. He keeps his eyes trained on Stiles’ face, watching every tiny detail that lets him know that somewhere, deep down, Stiles is enjoying this. Whether the boy actually wanted to like it or not. 

Derek’s actions continue for a small while, keeping the gentle and steady pace. He doesn’t wish to push the boy too much after the events of last night and this morning. After all, he wanted Stiles to enjoy this experience and not despise Derek so much. 

He can tell when Stiles is starting to relax more into the pleasure itself when the chocolate is abandoned and the hips are pushing up ever so slightly into Derek's hold, his breaths becoming a little more ragged. And with the boy a little more distracted, Derek slips his free hand around the back of his head and slowly tugs him down into a kiss. 

There’s resistance at first, with Stiles’ hand planting themselves on his chest and pushing back, not to mention how he clamps his lips shut immediately. Though Derek just grins to himself and allows for his grip on the boy's length to grow tighter and tighter until Stiles has no choice but to relent. And as soon as those sweet lips connect properly with his, Derek relaxes his grasp. 

It's cruel, he knows it is, but it's simply a kiss. Derek is already jacking him off, what's a little kiss gonna do? Derek hums to himself as his lips work against Stiles, allowing for his hand to pick up pace. He can really feel Stiles’ hips bucking up into him now, the kiss a little sloppy with how much he’s panting. Stiles is a teenage boy, of course he’s desperate. And Derek was revelling in it all.

It’s not much longer before Stiles is pulling away from the kiss, Derek about to verbalise his annoyance with it when the boy’s face is suddenly buried into his shoulder and he groans, fucking groans, with his face buried into his captor.

Derek feels the hips stutter as wetness partially coats his hand, just managing to glance down and catch sight of the cum now splattered between them. Stiles’ chest is heaving with his tired breath, staying pressed into Derek's shoulder as he recovers. And with that, Derek wraps his dirty hand around his own length and finishes himself off without a fuss.

Once it’s all over, Stiles stays quiet. He doesn't say a word, and neither does Derek, as the boy peels himself off the lap and grabs for the discarded jeans. He hesitates for a second, glancing at Derek as if debating something, but then any emotion is gone and he’s trudging towards the bathroom, leaving Derek alone on the couch.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got an easy chapter for you all today. Cannot believe we've hit over 13k hits like what the hell??? I'm so glad you all like this and I've still got a bunch of ideas for future chapters. 
> 
> My home life had been really rough/scary recently and I don't think it'll get better anytime soon so I'm trying to make the best of things. So, if there's quiet some time between chapters, I apologise I'm just trying to cope as best as I can
> 
> Thank you all for your outstanding support and the utterly amazing lovely comments I've been getting. It really makes my day :)
> 
> lots of love, eve!! xxx

The sound of running water fills the bathroom, the shower drenching Stiles as he stands beneath it, though nothing could block out the buzzing in his ears as he tried to comprehend what had just happened. 

Had he really just thought ‘whatever’ and let Derek get them both off? And had he honestly enjoyed it? 

Sure, he could argue that the human body works separately to his own mind, and that just because the orgasm felt good it didn't mean he had to like it. It was called pleasure for a reason. The body just feels good, whether you liked it or not in your head. 

His forehead is pressed against the tiles, eyes shut tight as he lets the water continue to rain on him. First and foremost, Stiles was angry at himself. Frustrated because he’d allowed himself to become so...willing so quickly. It had been merely two nights since he’d last seen anything outside of this room, anything besides Derek, and within those two days he’d been spanked, fucked, and jacked off. Not to even mention the head slap from Peter, the questionable attempt at giving him hypothermia by Derek that morning, and all the bondage he’d endured over a short period of time.

In a way, he could sympathise with his situation. The previous night, Derek had really hurt and scared him, as well as this morning. To go from the sudden harshness to something more...gentle. It was understanding that he’d be crawling into Derek's lap and letting him touch his dick for chocolate. So long as he wasn’t fucked again. Right? 

Slowly, Stiles drags his hand down his face and blinks his eyes open, pulling himself away from the tiles and focusing on washing himself. He didn’t get the chance to look at the clock so he was unaware of the time, though it wasn’t like he cared too much. He’d spend as much time in the shower as he liked, Derek be damned. 

He allows for his mind to drift off and think about things that didn't involve his current situation as his hands worked at scrubbing soap over his body. Most importantly, he made sure to clean any cum off of him. Whether it was his or Derek's, he wanted it washed down the drain. And once he was sure that he was fully clean and had wasted as much time as he possibly could in the shower before turning into a prune, Stiles turned off the spray and stepped out from the bath. 

A clean towel was resting on the radiator, which he happily grabbed to wrap around his body and dry himself off, appreciating the warmth of it. The mirror was steamed up from the heat of his shower, something Stiles was thankful for as he would rather not see his reflection right now. He dreaded to even think about what he might look like. He then tugged on the same boxers and the t-shirt, picking up the pair of jeans before exiting the bathroom to face his captor again. However, Derek is nowhere to be seen. 

A deep frown settles across Stiles’ face instantaneously, fully aware that this was the first time he’d been left alone by Derek. Which didn’t seem like a plan of action Derek would usually take, not without restraining Stiles first. But here Stiles was, completely free of bondage and conscious, and his captor was gone. 

Stiles is ashamed to admit that he hesitates. That he stays frozen in the place he’s standing, his chest tightening with the worrying thought of ‘where is Derek?’ instead of thinking about how he’s going to free himself from this situation. His eyes eventually blink and he takes a small breath, slowly sliding the jeans on to his lower half and then stepping towards the door.

He doesn’t rush. Doesn't dare allow himself to become frazzled and rush through the process. It’s clear that this wont be his moment to escape, as Derek is nowhere near that stupid to give Stiles a get-out-of-jail-free card that easily. But if he can at least use this time to examine possible exits and tactics Derek might use in the future then he can use that extra knowledge to formulate a better plan.

His eyes cast over the door, taking in the two locks that he’d have to get through before he could escape. The first is a rather chunky padlock, his fingers holding it as he tilts it to look at the keyhole underneath. The fixture that the padlock kept shut seemed like it didn’t belong here originally, probably something Derek added himself for more security. Which did somewhat eliminate the idea that they were in a motel as he doubts Derek was the sort of guy to ruin property like that. 

On top of that, the padlock itself was currently unlocked. Meaning that Derek definitely wasn’t inside the apartment as he wouldn’t be able to lock the padlock from the outside. He probably trusted Stiles enough to use just the one lock for now to do...whatever he was out there doing.

The second security measure is the actual keyhole that locked the door. Meaning Stiles would need at least one key to escape right now. Two if Derek was here. Or he could just magically find an axe and chop his way through the door, The Shining style. The thought has him tilting his head with a small sigh. He had better chances of getting away from Derek tomorrow, when they would be on the move and not locked inside a room. Besides, if he had an axe, chopping up Derek would be his priority.

As Stiles at staring as his slightly warped and blurry reflection in the padlock, his brain lights up with an idea. His head snaps to the right, staring with wide eyes at the window that faced the bed. With Derek being around, Stiles hadn’t a chance to even go near it. Though with the man now gone, Stiles could get a hint of what he was dealing with. And perhaps where they might now be.

Slowly, with an anxious breath trapped in his lungs, Stiles steps towards the closed curtains. They’re a dull grey, plain but not dirt cheap. Just thick enough to block out the sun that was trying to stream into the room. His fingers pinch the fabric, almost scared that Derek was going to jump out from a hiding spot and smack him for even daring to peek outside. But after a moment, nothing happens, and so Stiles inches the curtain aside. 

He wasn’t exactly sure what he was expecting to see, though the view is rather underwhelming. From the small gap he was looking through, Stiles could only see a concrete walkway/balcony. The sort you might see in an apartment building. Though it didn’t look clean or in any good condition, with the amount of dirt and graffiti scrawled on it. And beyond the edge of that was simply the tops of buildings, nothing unique enough for him to be able to pinpoint their location. 

Stiles lets out a huff as he backs away from the window, knowing that now wasn’t the right time to try anything. Even if he did manage to get through the window, the area didn’t look the most safe or pleasant. Plus, without a phone or any sort of money, he was stuck for options. He gives one last sad look to the curtains before telling himself to wait, looking back to the room instead. 

Without Derek taking up the space that his stupid large body occupied, the apartment seemed bigger and...more empty. God, Stiles was bored already. Usually he was far too distracted by his psychopathic kidnapper to actually feel boredom, though now it was starting to hit him. And so, Stiles decides that he must entertain himself. 

His first idea is the TV. Like any teenager, Stiles was a sucker for binge watching shows and movies. Now, obviously he didn’t have access to netflix here. And come to think of it, Stiles wasn't even 100% certain if they had wifi here or not. He hadn’t seen Derek use a phone, and there wasn’t a computer in sight. And when he peers around the room, he can't even spot a router. 

But that was fine. Stiles could cope without the internet for now. Derek had said that this was only supposed to be temporary, whether Stiles was with him or not. A lack of internet was probably good for a murderer trying to not get caught by the cops. 

The teenager throws himself down onto the couch, blinking as his elbow knocks something as he lands. A small thud catches his attention and he glances over the sofa arm to the floor where his abandoned chocolate bar had fallen. Just looking at it and remembering what he’d done to get that chocolate sent a shiver down his spine. But then he pauses, and thinks that Derek might take the chocolate away to try that trick again. So Stiles snatches the chocolate bar right up, as well as the remote, and settles himself down for a marathon of tv watching. 

\-- 

It's not until Stiles’ ear picks up on the click of the locked door that he finally notices how much time has passed. His eyes dart first to the clock hanging on the wall, eyes widening slightly when he sees that it was almost 5pm. Surely he hadn't watched that many episodes of various home renovations shows back to back, had he? 

His thoughts of the home design shows are swiftly wiped away when the door pushes open, Derek shouldering his way into the room with a huge bag in each hand. The man drops one by his feet as he stays in the doorway, large body blocking the possible exit as he slips the key from the lock then steps further inside. Stiles can only stare at the bags filled with various bits of shopping as Derek shuts the door and takes his sweet time locking both locks this time, not even a word to Stiles before he’s walking through to the kitchen. 

Unable to hold back his curiosity, Stiles pushes himself up from the couch and slinks towards the kitchen. It was almost strange to have Derek pay no attention to him, just watching as the man’s back faced him as he began to unpack the numerous items inside the bags. It's all rather uninteresting for Stiles, that is until a whole bunch of comics are placed upon the counter. He goes to dart forward before suddenly stopping half way, releasing what he's doing. It's only then that Derek finally acknowledges him, glancing at Stiles with a warm smile. 

“I got some comics for you,” he says softly with a nod to the small stack, Stiles looking nervously between his captor and the comics. 

Derek must notice the hesitation and lifts them from the counter to hand to Stiles, waiting until the teenager takes hold of them before letting go. 

“I got a few clean clothes for you too. Socks, underwear...couple shirts and jeans. I’m pretty sure they’ll fit,” Derek begins to ramble as he digs around in the bag. 

Though Stiles isn’t paying any attention to him now, his eyes focused on the comics in hand as he slowly flicks through the various titles. And they all set a bad feeling in his stomach. 

“Derek?” 

His voice is quiet, Stiles almost unsure if Derek heard him until the man gives a grunt of recognition and turns to look at him. 

“How uh...how did you know I liked Batman?”

The question feels utterly ridiculous. Stiles knows there’s no way that Derek had stalked him prior to that night, but just the idea of this man...this murderer even just finding his social media in the past couple days to learn everything about him. It made his chest feel horrendously tight. 

“Oh. It was your phone case. I just took a guess,'' Derek says with a nonchalant shrug, and the response does nothing to calm Stiles. 

However, Derek turns back to his bags and Stiles decides to walk away from the man for the time being and allow for his mind to recalibrate now that Derek was back in the picture. He slowly drags himself over to the bed and flops down on his stomach, spreading the array of comics across the sheets to pick the best one to read and distract himself with. 

The rest of the room falls mostly quiet as Stiles flicks through the colourful pages, eyes scanning over art of batman punching various bad guys and long winded monologues about justice. The distant noise of cutlery can be heard from the kitchen, though Stiles ignores it in favour of letting his mind retreat to a safe space. He couldn’t let himself get worked up over some comics. Tomorrow he’d be outside and he could make a break for it. 

He only manages to get a few pages into the comic when a weight dips on the side of the bed, Stiles casting barely a glance to Derek as the man places a plate of chinese food on the bed for the boy. There's a gentle smile across his face, Stiles guessing that Derek was probably pleased with what had happened earlier that day and Stiles’ current good behaviour. And frankly, Stiles would take that over the rest of the shit he’d dealt with. 

“Thanks,” the kid mumbles as his hands reach to grab the fork offered to him and drag the plate closer, trying to not acknowledge the pleased reaction it gained from Derek. 

The man had a plate filled with his own food and had settled back against the headboard as Stiles laid on his front facing it, the both of them content to sit in quiet and eat alongside each other. Stiles just read his comics as he assumed Derek watched the tv he’d left on. 

The night felt easy, calm, almost oddly so. Though Stiles could assume that was because Derek knew the next day would be something entirely different and wanted one calm night before the storm. As soon as Stiles was finished with his food, Derek whisked the plates away and washed everything up, returning to lay a fresh t-shirt and boxers on the bed for Stiles as he then closed himself in the bathroom. 

Stiles took advantage of the second alone to change himself and lay the dirty clothes on the dresser, placing his comics neatly on the night stand as he continued to read the one he’d started. He was somewhat near finishing when Derek exited the bathroom and climbed into the bed with Stiles, huffing behind the boy then reaching over him.

His hand plucked the comic from Stiles’ grasp, laying it atop the others before retracting. 

“Hey, I wasn’t done,” Stiles complained with a furrowed brow, turning to glare at Derek.

As per usual, Derek was unphased by his look and just reached for the bedside lamp. 

“Goodnight, Stiles,” was all he said before the room fell into darkness. 

Stiles sits for a moment and tries to watch through the dark as Derek settles himself down for sleep. It's a good couple minutes before sties realises that his little pouty protest won’t get him anywhere. And so, with a sigh of his own, he sinks into the sheets and lays his head on his pillow, allowing for his eyes to shut and for sleep to take him.


	13. Update

I thought I'd just write this quick update to let you all know what's happening with this fic

To put a long story short, its going to be paused for a good while. My home situation is even worse and I got dumped so I have so much mental stuff happening that I'm afraid this fic is low on my list of priorities. 

I'm hoping that I won't abandon it as I did start writing the next chapter, I just have no idea when it'll be finished. 

Sorry to all of you that love this fic and will have to wait for the next update but I'll see how I go. 

I would like to say a huge thank you to everyone that read this, dropped a kudo or a comment, and gave me so much support. Its utterly crazy to have over 15,000 hits on this fic I never thought would be liked so thank you so very much from the bottom of my heart. 

Stay safe, stay sinful, 

Lots of love, Eve xx


	14. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to start with a ginormous thank you to all of you from the last update!
> 
> I've been feeling much better since it, especially seeing everyone's lovely comments and support. It's so amazing to see just how many of you support not only the writing but me as a person, so thank you. It really does mean so much when I don't have as many people in my life xxx
> 
> Without going into personal detail, please know that there's no need to worry about me. My situation has been made as safe as it can be for the time being. As for the whole being dumped thing, that still fucking sucks but life must go on.
> 
> And so must this fanfiction! I have a pretty good chunk of what's to come loosely planned out in my head. So, as always,
> 
> enjoy, and I'll see you in hell
> 
> Eve xx

Stiles does not consider himself a morning person. He was used to his alarm blaring from his phone to wake him up for school, or his dad giving him a shove to the shoulder if he’d dismissed said alarm and fallen back asleep. However, he was sure that he’d take that alarm over the harsh sunlight that suddenly flashed on his face, instantly groaning and trying to roll over to press his face into the pillow. 

His action was met with the ghost of laughter somewhere above the sheets he was now using for protection, the deep rumble of it just cementing the fact that Stiles knows it's not his dad trying to get him up for school. Derek, rather rudely in Stiles’ opinion, grabbed for the duvet to tug away from the teenager in an attempt to rouse him fully from his slumber. However it only resulted in a grumbled, “fuck off.” 

“Stiles, come on. Let's get you dressed and fed,” Derek hummed, his cheery attitude the polar opposite of the boy’s sleepy state. 

Stiles finds that he does not appreciate Derek’s joyful demanour, nor does he appreciate when those big stupid man hands grabbed at one of his ankles. As if Derek was playfully coaxing his lover out of bed in the morning. The second that those thick fingers wrapped around his ankle, Stiles sat himself up and glared at Derek with the burning fury of a thousand suns. 

“Let. Go.”

The words are spoken through gritted teeth and Derek must get the message immediately as the grip is removed from the boy and Stiles can breathe a little easier. He waited to watch as Derek stepped away from the bed, noticing that the suitcase that was on the floor previously was now situated on top of the dresser. Stiles could see the clothes that were in the suitcase, the stuff he’d had to wear before Derek so gracefully let him borrow his clothes, were now shoved into a plastic bag on the floor. 

A fresh pair of boxers, sweatpants, and a plain t-shirt were folded neatly on the bed, Stiles glancing at them. He assumed they’re the new items Derek had bought for him, peeling the bedsheet away before reaching for them. Derek must’ve looked at the sizing of his actual clothes, which he needed to ask if he could have back at some point, as the items were all the correct size and Stiles wasted no time in getting changed whilst the man was occupied in packing his own clothes away. 

It felt odd for Stiles to think about how comfortable he’d become with the man in such a short amount of time. Even just Derek's presence, something that was rather intimidating, was now just another thing in the room. Almost as if being in the locker room with Danny or Jackson nearby. It didn’t feel like he was being held captive. Then again, his kidnapper didn’t look like your regular psychopath. 

The boy lets out a quiet sigh as he glances around the room, eyes landing upon the duffel bag he’d gained a bitterness towards. It hadn’t made an appearance since his first day here, and the dreaded spanking, though its presence had a knot forming in Stiles’ stomach. 

A heavy hand lands on Stiles’ shoulder, shocking him from his thoughts all of a sudden. Derek’s shadow looms over him when his head snaps to the man, however the smile on his face is friendly and inviting, as if knowing he needs to ease Stiles’ anxiety. 

“I think we’re all packed up, for the most part. Now just to get you ready to travel, huh?” 

Derek's words sound so harmless, and yet there’s such a dark tone hidden beneath them. It chilled Stiles to the bone, enabling him only to give a stiff nod in return. Though the action is enough of a response to get Derek moving, patting the boy’s shoulder and stepping towards the coffee table. 

Stiles feels somewhat frozen in anticipation as Derek rustles in the bag and pulls out various lengths of rope, dropping each of them onto the floor by his feet. There’s a hoodie laid across the table top, Stiles notices, with the words ‘University of California’ across the front. For a moment Stiles wonders if Derek had gone to that university and that it's his hoodie, however the sudden feeling of hands on his wrists have him snapping out of his daydream. 

Derek is knelt just in front of him, smiling up at Stiles with that unnerving look. It's an attempt at reassurance and, frankly, it was failing terribly.

“Hands up, mister,” Derek instructed softly, his own grip guiding Stiles’ hands to his chest area. 

He held them there as he watched the man with a small raise of his brow, which suddenly changes when Derek unceremoniously rips the sweatpants down. With a yelp, Stiles shot his hands down to grab for the pants whilst trying to move backwards. However, Derek was faster. 

That stupid grin remained as he caught Stiles and tugged him close again, pushing the hands up again and making sure they stayed before he reached for the rope. 

“I need your pants down, silly. I’m tying the rope around your thighs and hips so it’ll sit under your sweatpants.”

As he explained his actions, Derek's finger delicately traced from his hip down towards his groin and then between his legs, making Stiles grimace. Which Derek instantly noticed. 

“You know I’ll have to secure your hands for the journey, Stiles. It’s a given,” he sighed, resting the rope in his lap for now. “I’m tying it around here and then your shoulders and chest for strength and comfort.”

Derek paused after his words, face softened and looking up at the annoyed teenager. The last thing Stiles wanted was to be bound by the damn rope, his mind already running to think about who the hell else had been tied with those ropes. Though, before he can protest, Derek opens his mouth. 

“It’s either this or I have to knock you out again, Stiles.” 

The words send a shock of fear through Stiles’ entire body, eyes snapping wide at the painful memory of his head being slammed in the car. His head begins to ache at the mere thought and he shakes his head quickly. 

“No. Ropes are fine.”

The answer pleased Derek, as he instantly picked up the rope and began to layer it over Stiles’ boxers. It twists and wraps around his hips and thighs, looping around his waist as an anchor, though Stiles can tell it’s loose enough to be comfy whilst still tight enough to be to the man’s standards. 

As soon as he’s done with the rope around his lower half, Derek tugged up the sweatpants to make sure nothing was visible and then moved on to his upper chest. Stiles might have thought the ropework to be rather pretty with how it laid on his skin, if he were in a different scenario. But instead he stayed quiet, not complimenting nor critiquing the task as Derek worked with efficiency. 

Once the man was satisfied, he pushed himself to his feet with a groan of effort and swiped the hoodie from the table. Stiles had picked up on the fact that his hands and arms were currently unbound and had questioned it, up until Derek stood before him and held out the hoodie. 

“Arms up!”

Stiles’ face twisted into an unenthusiastic grimace at Derek's joyous attitude, though for the sake of speeding up the process, he held his hands in the air. The action was accompanied with a small sigh as Derek lifted the hoodie and helped Stiles slip his arms into the sleeves. It was tugged down over him, covering the rope with ease. And it was only then that Stiles noticed something off with the inside material. 

“There’s a hole in the pocket?” he questioned and Derek just hummed.

Stiles doesn't get much more of a response nor explanation as the man grabbed at his wrists and stuffed his hands into the hoodie pocket. However, context clues slowly pieced together the puzzle. That and the extra length of rope Derek had begun to wrap around his wrists. 

He was working up under the hoodie itself, twisting the rope and attaching it to both the upper and lower parts he’d already decorated the boy with. And once done, he stood a step back with a proud smile to admire his work. Any simple glance would assume Stiles was any other teenager with his hands in his pockets. Having no clue that the hole inside the hoodie actually allowed for Stiles hands to be bound to the ropes across his waist and chest hidden beneath it too.

Meanwhile, Stiles glared at Derek. He wanted to slap that smug smile off his stupid face, to kick and scream and start up an almighty fuss just to piss the guy off. After everything, every fuckng thing he’d been through so far, he could not believe that this was the one thing that might make him snap. And why? Because Derek didn’t have to hide the ropes unless he really planned on parading Stiles in public like some fucking trophy. 

The thought made tears sting his eyes and he couldn’t even have the mercy of using his hands to hide it, embarrassment rippling through his body when he felt a tear slip down his cheek. Derek’s face instantly flooded with concern, practically diving towards the boy, and Stiles had never turned his back on anyone so fast. 

“Stiles, are you-”

“Fuck off, Derek. Haven't you done enough?” the boy spat, venom lacing hsi tone. 

It's anger so dark that Stiles couldn't believe it was him that had said that, shocking himself alongside Derek. Stiles could feel the ghost of Derek's hands hovering near him, ready to comfort, before they slowly retracted. Momentarily, there's a tiny stab of regret, perhaps thinking he’d gone too far. But then those heavy hands landed on his shoulders, and Stiles kicked that feeling to the curb. 

“I know you’re feeling stressed and upset with this all, Stiles,” Derek started, sounding like he was thinking about his words before he said them. Smart move. “And I know that you don't like the rope. But you're being so good for me. You really are.”

It’s the following kiss to the top of his head that has Stiles jabbing his elbow back as far as he could.

He felt as his elbow slammed back into Derek's stomach, though the bastard must’ve anticipated it as the muscle was tensed. The man behind him allowed himself a breath before just ignoring the action as if it had never happened, hands patting his shoulders. 

“How about you sit and watch the tv whilst I make breakfast huh?” Dereks suggested, however the tone indicates that there was no room for an argument.

Stiles allowed himself to be seated on the couch, Derek fussing and propping up a pillow behind him to make sure he was comfortable, before the man retreated into the kitchen and left Stiles with some cartoons he’d turned on. As the noise and smell of frying bacon began to drift through the apartment, Stiles could only stare at the flashing colours of the screen and zone out. He didn't want to be here. He didnt want to think about Derek or whatever the fuck the man had done to him so far. For now, he needed to clear his mind and, once in the car, focus on planning how to get the fuck away from Derek. 

He said the journey would be long, so surely they’d have to stop at last once. If Stiles could convince Derek to let him out of the car, to use the toilet perhaps, then Stiles could either run or get someone's attention somehow. Though he’d have to plan on the fly, considering he didn't know where they were nor where they were going. 

Stiles barely noticed when Derek took a seat next to him, a plate of food in each hand. He twisted his body slightly to watch Derek place a meal aside, cutting one up into small bites and Stiles knew it was for him. A numbness washed over him as he opened his mouth to take the forkful of bacon and eggs Derek fed him, eyes finding more interest in the shitty tiny watercolour painting behind Derek's head than the pleased look that was plastered across Derek's face. 

Breakfast went without a hitch, Stiles just sat there once his plate was empty and paying no attention as Derek ate his own. Yet again that sick domestic feeling was in the air, sending a shiver down Stiles’ spine. But he had to keep reminding himself that today would be his big chance to get the fuck out of here. 

Derek left him on the couch as he washed the dishes and made sure everything was packed away, hefting the duffel bag onto his shoulder before dragging Stiles to his feet. The grip on his bicep is intimidating enough, Stiles not needing much encouragement to walk towards the door. Though his eyes widen in slight excitement as the keys are revealed and the door is finally unlocked. Stiles held his breath in anticipation as the keys were shoved away and then the door was gradually opened. 

The sight was disappointing, even more so than the glimpse he’d gotten from the window. Everything felt grey, and that wasn’t just because everything around them was dull concrete. Even the fucking sky was shrouded in grey clouds, dimming any ray of sunshine hat even tried to pass through. 

Stiles didn't have much time to admire the swear words graffitied on the balcony however as Derek, after locking the door behind himself and making sure the suitcase was with them, was swiftly tugging Stiles towards a flight of stairs. The complex as a whole felt eerily empty, Stiles wondering if there had ever been anyone else here besides them. 

The stairwell was dark and frankly disgusting, Stiles sure he saw at least three used condoms and piss stains to accompany them. And the state of the parking lot he was dragged into wasn’t any better. It was practically abandoned, only recognising Derek's car and pulling a face at the numerous dirty vans that were scattered around. 

However, Stiles could sense that Derek was just as uncomfortable as he was with the state of their accommodation, glancing up to see just how tight his face was. Stiles was sure that the only time he’d ever seen Derek like that was when he was rambling about his past and attempting to drown him. 

The familiar car that began this whole fiasco was soon right in front of Stiles, that same passenger door opened for him. Except this time, there’s no sweet talking or smirks from his captor. Only pure silence and hand gestures. So, the teenager seated himself in the vehicle and got himself comfy as Derek fit the case into the trunk and the duffel into the backseat. And once that was all done, Derek took the driver's seat. 

He sat for a moment, hands just resting on the heel and staring out of the windshield before his gaze came to rest on Stiles. Upon just seeing the boy with him, Stiles watched how Derek softened and calmed down, curious as to just how in love with him Derek really was. 

“It’ll be better soon, I promise,” Derek whispered with a gentle smile, before the engine started and they pulled out of the garage.


	15. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, you sinful lovelies
> 
> I am back. This chapter took a while to figure out the details so I do hope it's up to all of your standards. You'll all get to meet the wonderful Peter again soon and a very special guest! Until then, enjoy!
> 
> As always, Kudos are loved and your comments are all so lovely, keep them coming! 
> 
> Warning! MURDER. It's not described in any detail at all but just in case any of you have got this far and this is the thing that turns you away. You have been warned!

Stiles wouldn’t ever consider himself bad company during a journey. Usually he would make sure to pack comic books or a game boy for a school trip, stuffing his headphones into his ears to keep himself entertained without talking the ears off of Scott or Isaac. He was very aware that his constant smart comments got under peoples skin and therefore he’d become rather skilled at keeping his mind busy with anything he could to fill the time of a journey. However, having to sit inside of a car with his hands bound with rope, right next to some murderous nutjob, was sending Stiles down the path of insanity. 

The drive had begun in almost utter silence, with nothing but the sound of the engine to fill the air. And that had lasted a whole ten minutes and then Stiles was asking about the radio. Derek had seemed very reluctant to put it on, Stiles either guessing that he was worried there would be some news report about a missing teenage boy or he was just a buzzkill. Though after a flutter of his lashes, a pout of his lips, and a very forced out “pretty please”, Derek had given in and flicked the radio on. 

The music wasn't exactly to Stiles’ personal taste, it had tuned into some radio station that sounded like it should be playing in a retirement home. All quiet, smooth songs that, despite having know idea what they were or who they were by, were calming Stiles’ mind. 

With Derek stuck seated to his left, Stiles decided to turn his attention to his right and keep his eyes trained on the world outside of the car. They had passed a few built up areas, houses and stores along the streets, though Stiles quickly noticed that Derek had began to take them through the outside of wherever they were. It was a smart choice for Derek to make, as it meant they managed to get out of the place faster. 

It was just long stretches of roads and cars, Stiles doing his best to catch a glimpse of any sign they passed that could tell him where they were and where they were going. And thankfully, he quickly figured out they were still in California. For the time being at least. The signs themselves were few and far between, and Derek was driving along at a pace too fast for Stiles to focus on what the sign said before they’d passed it. 

Having to just sit there quietly, considering Derek didn’t seem in the mood to talk, was starting to really grate on Stiles. It began with staring out of the window. Which evolved into humming, sometimes along with the music, sometimes completely out of tune with it. And then his knee began to bop up and down, his body just trying to find some way to entertain him. It wasn’t until a heavy hand landed on his knee that Stiles snapped out of his small daze and his eyes snapped to Derek.

The man wasn't even looking at him, eyes seemingly focusing on the road ahead of them. But the grip on his knee to stop it from bouncing was clearly a warning. It was obvious that being in an unfamiliar environment, out in the open and travelling, was putting Derek on edge. And Stiles’ attempt to stimulate was annoying him. Though it’s not like Stiles could do much about it with his hands tied. 

“Can you move your hand please?” Stiles asked with a slight tone to his voice, trying to wiggle his knee to get the grip off of it. 

It took a moment before Derek slowly retracted his hand and returned it to the gear stick, though not without a sideways glance to his passenger. 

“Don’t bounce your leg.”

The words made Stiles scoff, perhaps a little too dramatically, and roll his eyes. Was Derek being fucking serious? Maybe that was what he got for kidnapping a kid with adhd. But out of the corner of Stiles’ eyes, he spotted a sign. Something that could really help him out here, and a plan formulated. 

“I can’t help it. I gotta pee.”

Stiles wouldn’t say he liked lying. He did it often enough to get his dad off his back about his stupid shenanigans, and he’d become somewhat good at it. Plus with the baby face he had, and his little button nose, it was hard to think of him as the bad kid that lied. 

He kept his gaze on Derek, watching to see how the man processed the words. At first, Stiles wondered if he was just ignored with the way he just stared straight ahead at the road, his grip on the wheel growing a little bit tighter. But then he saw the shift in Derek's eyes, catching the exact sign Stiles had seen. And then he exhaled. 

“There’s a gas station nearby. We’ll stop, I’ll take you to the bathroom there and get you some snacks, okay? Just stop with the leg.”

Stiles grinned in triumph and nodded his head, settling back into his seat. This was it. Stiles was a fucking pro at gas stations. 99% of the time, in areas like these, you’d have to ask for a key for it. Derek could either leave Stiles alone to get the key, or risk taking Stiles in the station with him. And the boy could think of an escape plan for both. 

\--

The gas station they pulled into was the perfect amount of run down and empty for Stiles to be both creeped out and relieved. If there was an abundance of people, Derek would’ve most likely kept driving and pulled up by some trees instead. Though there’s only one car beside theirs, an older man leant up against it and reading a newspaper.

Derek parked the car next to one of the gas pumps, turning the engine off and rummaging for his wallet before he paused and glanced at Stiles. 

“I’m gonna fill the tank and then go inside and ask about the bathroom. Would you like anything?” he asked, turning sideways slightly in his seat to look at the boy. 

Stiles glanced up to him for a moment before he shrugged his shoulders. 

“I dunno. M&M’s?”

The man gave a nod in reply and then climbed out of the car, Stiles watching as he rounded it to begin filling the tank. 

Once he’s left alone, Stiles took it upon himself to survey his surroundings. To take whatever he could into account for a possible escape. With Derek by the car, he couldn't exactly get the attention of the other guy nearby, and so his eyes drifted away. There didn't seem to be much of use outside of the car, especially with his hands bound, and so the boy settled himself into the seat to wait for Derek to finish. 

It was a good few torturous minutes of waiting for the tank to fill, hearing the click of the pump as Derek put it back into place and then wandered through the sliding glass doors. Stiles glanced towards the gas station and watched as Derek went for the candy aisle, distracted by finding a snack for the boy. And so he took his chance. 

With a bit of effort and thanking the gods that the shitty car had a manual window handle, Stiles managed to get a crack open and stared right at the older man right by them. 

“Pst! Hey!” he attempted to call to get the guy’s attention, finally being successful when tired eyes looked up from the newspaper. “Sir, the man inside the store has kidnapped me. I asked him to use the bathroom so please, if you can, when he gets me out of the car can you please help me? Please sir I’m begging you.”

Stiles' voice was strained as he spoke, eyes wide as the man simply looked towards the store and then back to him, replying with a simple nod. Trying to swallow the lump in his throat, Stiles cranked the window closed again and slumped into his seat. This was it. This was his fucking chance. 

It's not too long before Derek sauntered out of the store with keys in one hand and a small plastic bag in the other. He ignored the driver’s side to instead open Stiles’ door, leaning over him to put the bag in the foot well before a hand took hold of the teenager's forearm. 

“The bathroom is just round the side, okay?” 

Stiles gave a quick nod of his head to show he understood before letting the hand tug him out of the car and hearing the car door slam shut behind him. 

Derek’s grip stayed on his forearm as his other hand adjusted the hood over Stiles’ head, the pair looking somewhat like siblings to anyone unsuspecting. Stiles’ heart was beating a mile a minute with each step he took, slowly closing in on the side of the building and unable to hear if they were being followed due to the blood rushing in his ears. If this guy didn’t help him then Stiles would have to take matters into his own hands. 

The tarmac met rough foliage and they trudged round the corner of the building, an unwelcoming smell drifting from the dumpster which made Stiles feel more sick than he already did. They come to a stop outside of the door labelled ‘bathroom’ and Derek reached forward with the key. 

There’s a slight moment of hesitation as the key slid into the lock, Stiles wondering if Derek knew what was about to happen or whether the lock was just stiff. Though, in one swift movement, the door is tugged open and Stiles is roughly shoved inside. No, scratch that, Derek had used his entire strength to push Stiles into the bathroom and proceed to shut the door. 

Harsh tile met Stiles’ elbow as, without his hands, he couldn’t even think to catch himself. Pain radiated through his arm, his brain panicking as to why the fuck Derek would do that. But as his eyes snapped to the closing door, he caught a glimpse of the stranger and the back of Derek's head. 

The door clicked shut and Stiles attempted to scramble to his feet, breath laboured as he went into full on panic mode. He slipped on the grime covered floor, heart hammering his rib cage, trying to listen for something. Even just a clue that Derek might be losing and that could be saved. All he can really hear was groans and grunts of fighting, the sort that would’ve filled the gymnasium during wrestling season in gym class. 

And then, silence. 

Stiles’ was shaking as he shoved himself back into the corner of the confined space, a hiccup leaving him as he waited. He wished, he goddamn wished, that this would be his moment of freedom. Though there’s this looming shadow in his brain, telling him to not be stupid. 

Derek was a dangerous man. He’d admitted to murder, shown Stiles the evidence, and raped him. What was one more to add to the list? 

The silence filled the air in the bathroom and practically choked Stiles as he waited and waited, craving to hear the lock click open and to reveal his dad on the other side. However, when that click finally sounds, the door eases open to reveal Derek's figure standing in the door frame. 

His face was less than pleased, though did not hold the anger of the time he tried to free Stiles in the shower. Was that a good thing? Stiles could not decipher Derek anymore. However, he wasn’t fucking blind and the stained crimson shirt said enough words to replace Derek’s intimidating silence. 

The man took the key from the outside of the door and replaced it on the inside, shutting and then locking himself inside with the teenager, merely ignoring him for now as he set about washing his hands. 

And the fucking knife they held. 

The quietness between them continued, with Stiles staring up at this murderer in disbelief, blinking every now and then as Derek allowed him time to get himself under control. And then, once Derek was satisfied with the state of his hands and weapon, he turned his dark gaze to the boy. 

“Do you actually need the bathroom?”

Stiles shivered next to the toilet as the gruff voice spoke to him, seeing how the eyes observed him like prey. That’s exactly what he was, wasn’t he? Just a stupid little antelope that got too close to the watering hole and now the fucking lion decided he wanted a pet. 

After a moment of careful consideration, Stiles shook his head. He might as well be honest now. Derek merely nodded in reply and pocketed the knife before tugging Stiles to his feet. The door is unlocked and the outside of the bathroom is surprisingly untainted. 

Stiles expected pools of blood like those horror movies, though knew in the back of his head how unrealistic that sounded. He can only blink and then he’s sat in the car again, Derek having swapped his shirt for a clean one before the key is returned to the store clerk with a smile. 

And that smile stayed as Derek slipped into the driver's seat, directing the haunting grin at Stiles before focusing on pulling out of the gas station and back on to the road.


End file.
